


Awakening

by VicenteValtieri



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bonding, Comments Motivate Me, Dark, Drunkeness, Fluff, If you want me to write more, Love, M/M, Manipulation, Politics, Realization, Shockball, Sparklings, Starscream takes one to the tank, Unhealthy Coping, but light too, comment, duels, slave!seekers, spark and sticky sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 58
Words: 80,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9821669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicenteValtieri/pseuds/VicenteValtieri
Summary: I surrender. The fic wins. Bring it on, muse!Optimus Prime, the dockworker who became a noble. Starscream, the scientist who was cast out. Both underdogs in a hostile society. Trials will follow, but triumphs are over the horizon.Will Optimus and his beloved Seeker live to see their first vorn as the rulers of Cybertron? Maybe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one-shot. I swear. This isn't going to turn into anything larger. If it does, I may shoot myself because I have way too much going on already. This is a one-shot.
> 
> Orion Pax finds Starscream passed out drunk in the streets. Why is he there? What's going to happen next?

Orion Pax was driving home after a long shift at the docks. His loft apartment, drafty and far from his work as it was, sounded more comforting the closer he got to it. 

In short, he was almost in recharge on his tires.

Which made him extremely unwilling to help the clearly overcharged and passed out mech lying in the middle of the street. If it had been any other night, any other shift, he would have gladly called a transport or driven the mech home himself. 

As it stood, he was exhausted, and didn’t really want to touch the pitiful figure, covered in every kind of fluid possible and quietly lying in the way, on his front.

He was just about to drive around it when the figure twitched and muttered something about being innocent. That piqued his interest, even tired as he was. He transformed and shook the other mech.

Orion soon realized that the mech was a Seeker. His long, elegant wings and matching frame, smooth and seemingly well-kept were a giveaway from white legs to red chassis. With a jolt, he realized that he knew this Seeker. He had seen him in the archives on weekends and at an annual science convention that the university held every year. It was Starscream: The only Seeker ever to attend the Academy and one of the fastest mechs alive.

Why was he lying out in the streets, overcharged into unconsciousness, with his interface panel open, where any mech could assault him? Wasn’t he supposed to be on an exploration mission?

Orion got the Seeker into his flat bed and began hauling him back to his apartment. He would help the mech recover and then see him to his own home in the morning. Thank Primus it was his day off the next day.

When he got Starscream to his loft, he set him up in the “guest room” and cleaned him up as best he could. With his guest attended to, he went to his own berth and laid down to rest.

Orion woke in the morning to find his guest had purged his tanks in the night and was still unconscious. He was lucky his vents hadn’t clogged. With a sigh, Orion cleaned him up again and patted his wings as he stood up. It had been a long night for the both of them it seemed.

Starscream woke near the beginning of the night cycle, confused and disoriented. “Where am I…?” Looking around, he couldn’t place it. There were lots of windows and they were fairly high up. It was a loft apartment: The kind artists and less wealthy mechs bought. He realized, with a twist in his spark, that he was near the Academy, the University, and the Archives altogether. All the old haunts where he and Skyfire had been until… Until…

He held his helm for a long time, coolant threatening to emerge from his optics.

A hauler mech, apparently the owner, came in with a cube of energon. “Oh, good, you’re awake. You were beginning to worry me. My name is Orion. Orion Pax.” He offered the energon. “Here, you must be low.”

Starscream shook his helm, pushing it away. “No. I don’t want it.”

“Oh. All right.” He took a sip from the cube himself, seemingly just to have something to do. 

“How did I get here? Did you take me home? Did we frag?” Starscream bluntly asked.

Orion blushed. “No. I found you in the street.” He set the cube on a table. “I brought you home to make sure you were all right.”

Starscream looked away, muttering, “Almost wish it had been fragging.”

“Why were you out there, Starscream? I will admit, I found you in… a bit of a state.”

“I wanted to be drunk enough not to think.” Starscream snapped. “I wanted to be able to pretend everything is all right again.”

Orion was silent for a long moment. “Well, I don’t know what’s happened, but there’s surely a bright side. You’re still Starscream: Fastest Seeker in the force, one of the fastest mechs anywhere. You’re the only Seeker ever to graduate from the Academy of Science: To top that, you’re one of the most highly decorated mechs from the Academy. You made the Top Ten every semester for all time. You were given a grant for exploration and you’re going to be out there, making discoveries. Frankly, I can’t think of anything better.”

Starscream laughed bitterly, the agony of former glory on his wings as a lead covering. “No, Orion. I was all that, but no more. I imagine you’ll hear about it soon, if you know all that. I’m a murderer: I killed my exploration partner. Now, now I’m nothing.”

Orion was silent for a long moment. “I don’t believe that. If you’d killed your partner, you’d be in prison, not out on the streets getting overcharged.”

“I may as well have killed him and it doesn’t matter. They can’t convict me, but they can disbar me: Take away everything I am. Everything I worked so hard for.”

“What happened?” Orion questioned. “You don’t have to tell me, but… it might help to talk.”

Starscream was silent for a long moment. “We were caught in a blizzard on a planet with some very impressive winds. Skyfire and I were separated. I searched for him until I couldn’t search anymore. Then, when I came home, willing to beg on my wings for help, I was charged with murder and the Council disbarred me.”

Orion listened with lips firmed together. “That’s completely unfair. Surely-”

“There’s nothing I can do or anyone I can go to. I’ve tried, Orion. I’ve tried everything. No one wants to help a Seeker. They’re glad to see me gone, put back in my place.”

“I don’t believe that. You’ve a right to-“

“No, Orion. I have no rights.” Starscream tightly reminded him. “I am a Seeker. I was sparked to a breeding Carrier Mech, put to work when I was barely adult, and I’ve had to squabble and scrape for everything I’ve ever gotten in my life. Every shanix, every scrap, everything. I had to deliberately leave my frametype off my application to the Academy so they would give me scholarships. You should have seen their expressions when I reported.”

Orion set a servo to his helm. “I thought… I thought Vos had her own Academy.”

“We do. If you want to learn how to build machines or repair equipment or to be a better soldier. If you want to stay in Vos, accept that you’ll have to pay almost ninety percent of your wages, compulsorily, for bare minimum living, then there are academies at Vos. If you want to live your life a laborer for the free mechs in Iacon and Praxus, accept the unwanted advances of “superiors,” and die having borne and raised dozens of sparklings you will never see do more than suffer and labor and die just like you, there are academies in Vos. I wanted more, Orion. I wanted to create, to innovate.” Starscream’s lips twisted and his optics started leaking again. Why, why, why was he crying so much? “Was it too much to ask to be allowed to be what I could be instead of what was expected?”

Orion was stunned into silence. If this was true, the economies of Iacon, Praxus, and Vos were totally dependent on near-slave labor.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t live here anymore. I could barely support myself with full status. Now, how am I to work at my chosen profession? I’ll have to go back to Vos, where Seekers belong, and I’ll have to live and suffer and die like the rest of my people.” He exvented heavily. “But I’ll never bring Sparklings into the world to suffer after me.”

Orion reached out hesitantly and laid a servo on Starscream’s shoulder, offering silent comfort as best he could. “Is there no way for you to stay?”

“I can’t support myself here, Orion. In Vos, at least I’ll be fed. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll go back, without a fuss, and give up. But they don’t beat me until I bring more slaves into this world for them to use and dispose of when they find it convenient.” 

Orion took his servo and held it. In the morning, the Seeker was gone to whatever fate had in store for him. To whatever hell life had built for him.

But what he left behind burned in Orion’s spark: A need, never to allow the official story to become his truth. Never to let coverings be pulled over his optics again. 

From now on, he would believe only what he could back up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A TWO-SHOT. IT IS ONLY A TWO-SHOT. IT WILL NOT BE MORE THAN A TWO SHOT. IF IT TURNS INTO SOMETHING LARGER, I WILL EAT MY OWN EYEBALL, BECAUSE I HAVE FAR TOO MUCH GOING ON ALREADY.
> 
> Ahem. Optimus becomes Prime and meets Senator Shockwave.

Orion still revered Primus, in spite of his newly cynical views on his servants. As such, he wanted to attend the selection of the new Prime. It would be interesting to see and to take the measure of the candidates selected. 

Sentinel Prime had not been a good Prime, in Orion’s humble opinion, and he had certainly not been a fan of class-unity or freedoms. Orion had pursued his record and realized that, if he took Sentinel’s career as a general into account, their revered Prime was most directly responsible for the complete subjugation of Vos, as Starscream had claimed, and subsequent research supported. Things for the Seekers were grim. Shuttles weren’t much better off, but they had more freedoms than the warrior flight frames.

As he had done more and more research, Orion realized that almost all of the warrior frames were treated the same way: Forced to work hard labor, told that they had no place in peaceful society, and deprived of basic education and opportunity simply because they were designed for combat. Still, the Seekers were the worst off. Perhaps it was their power of flight, perhaps they frightened Sentinel more because they had mastered the sky. It was no small thing to be faster than the racers of Praxus, even only in the air. 

Orion silently prayed that Sentinel’s successor would take pity on Primus’s war-built children and ease their distress.

 

Optimus Prime, newly selected and hailed, tossed himself towards the refresher, bent at the waist, and purged, hard.

It had all happened too fast, it was impossible to take in. He purged again, emptying his tanks until there was nothing left in them.

Getting to his pedes, he examined himself in the mirror on the wall of the obscenely luxurious washracks. Unlike others of his class, he was not against the priveledges of rank, but this… something about the gilt and jeweling made his tanks, emptied, churn. He recognized the artworks: They belonged in a museum, not a berthchamber, and even one of these small jewels was so valuable that its sale could support his whole apartment building for a decavorn.

He cast his optics about the room and had to duck his helm again.

He was left to pace and contemplate the changes made to his frame. In the morning, attendants came and he allowed them to polish his frame and make him “presentable” as they said. Then, he was taken out to a balcony and presented by a Senator from Praxus. 

Afterwards, he was met by all the various Senators and Councilmen. They offered congratulations and extravagant presents that he didn’t want. All the time, his processor was screaming “This is a mistake! I was not meant for this! Take it from me, I don’t want it!” He was insanely grateful for the face mask the matrix had seen fit to bestow on him: It hid his expression well.

He was introduced to Senator Shockwave last and there he found his first ally in his new position.

Senator Shockwave was a well-known mech among the lower classes, a sympathizer with the new movement known as the Decepticons. Optimus liked him at once and allowed the Senator to come into a small “afternoon room” that was decorated in enough aura to make a set of vessels and trays for a ball. Optimus felt momentarily queasy again and went to the window, staring out over the city.

“It cannot be easy for you.” Senator Shockwave stood at his shoulder. “To leave behind all you have known and be presented with a title you never dreamed of owning.”

Optimus nodded, staring out over the skyline. “My attendants this morning told me that tutors would be brought, to teach me what I am meant to do next. They keep saying I will want to choose my consort soon. What did they mean by that, Senator Shockwave?”

Shockwave pursed his lipplates. “They speak of your helpmate. Three representatives from each city and the known colonies will be summoned to Cybertron when you declare it, to attend a ball. Presumably, at some point, the Matrix will choose one to become your consort and mate. The other two attending will become handmecha, helpers of your helper.”

Optimus was silent for a long moment. “And what if I do not wish to take a consort? If I refuse to call for the representatives, what then?”

“I would not advise it, Optimus Prime. A helpmate is a necessary part of your social duties.”

Optimus ex-vented heavily. “Very well, then I will call it on the morrow and get it over with.”

“Optimus, is there anyone in particular that you wish to represent Iacon?” Shockwave questioned. “Someone special, perchance?”

No, there was no one. Optimus was resigned, helpless. He would have to be Prime, caught up in a web of politics that he was not capable of handling. He was a dockworker and scholar, nothing more. It would take a processor like lightning to handle….

No, a processor fast as a scream.

“I would like Starscream to represent Vos, if at all possible.” Optimus spoke.

“Starscream? That is a name I have not heard mentioned in Iacon for vorns.” Shockwave nodded, contemplatively. “I believe it may be very possible. He is one of the foremost members of Vos, after all.”

“Thank you, Shockwave.”

“I live to serve Primus and the people of Cybertron.” Shockwave bowed and left the room.

Optimus continued to stare towards Vos, once a jewel, now a pen, and pondered on what it would take to restore Cybertron to a true Golden Age, for all involved: Seeker and Senator alike.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. I KNOW I SAID THIS BEFORE, BUT I MEAN IT: THIS WILL NOT BE A FIC. THIS IS A FICLET. LESS THAN FIVE THOUSAND WORDS. A COMPELLING STORY IN A SMALL PACKAGE. THIS IS THE SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER. IF IT ISN'T, I'LL HANG MYSELF IN THE SHOWER. 
> 
> Okay.
> 
> Starscream makes his reappearance.

It was weeks before the representatives were gathered and the ball was prepared. In that time, Optimus had been drilled on proper etiquette and form until his processor rang with rules.

At last, the appointed evening arrived. Optimus was ambushed in his quarters by his attendants, bearing ceremonial coverings and a cloak embroidered with Aura and Argent and studded with gems. There was a headpiece that made him feel thoroughly ridiculous as well.

And out he was conducted, into a room filled with so much wealth that it made his helm spin. Bonded nobles and their consorts, successful racers, artists in vogue, and so many more, all covered from helm to pede in finery and jewels. A Senator, Mirage, Optimus believed, approached, smiling. Optimus remembered that he was on the committee selecting the candidates from the cities, along with Shockwave and a few others. “The representatives will arrive after the rest of the guests are seated at table. I apologize in advance for the Vosnian delegation. Shockwave chose them and his tastes are… odd.”

“Discussing the Seekers? Barbarians. When Sentinel called for his consort, they came in their armor. No decorations at all.” Another, much older Senator sniffed. “They were exhausted from their trip as well: They had flown here and arrived just before. Nowhere to stay, I suppose.”

“They probably had nothing.” Optimus murmured, mind reeling. “That was directly after Sentinel nearly razed the city. That they came at all was a miracle…”

The older Senator scoffed, but Mirage had the decency to look ashamed. “Anyway, Shockwave put them up at his mansion, so they should be in better condition at least.”

“Better condition for a Seeker is nothing like good condition for us, Senator Mirage.” The older Senator bowed to Prime and took his seat at the banquet table.

Prime mingled a few moments more, dread building in his tanks. What if the Seekers had nothing in the way of decorations? Starscream had certainly not been expecting a successful or easy life when he returned to Vos vorns ago. Had he opened the Seeker up to public disgrace with his request? Starscream was a proud mech, with good reason, and would not take well to being exposed to ridicule. 

Optimus shuttered his optics, calming himself. It was done. When Starscream walked into the hall, he would be here, whether dressed in brocade or in his armor. Either way, it would be Starscream: Fastest flyer and thinker of Vos. Clever enough to get through a hostile university, clever enough to navigate the Prime’s court.

At least, Optimus hoped.

“The representatives of Iacon.” The herald, Manners, announced. “Skywheel, Arcee, and Firestar.”

The three femmes were veiled in the ancient Iacon fashion, bowing before being escorted to their places. Not accidentally, Arcee had pride of place directly across from Optimus. She was a lady from a noble family, Optimus knew, and wealthy, though the Prime had a fortune in his own right.

“Greetings.” He nodded to them neutrally.

“The representatives of Praxus. Moonracer, Blurr, and Drift.” All three of the speedsters bowed. None of them were veiled, as the representatives of Iacon were. Optimus greeted them and they took their places.

“The representatives of Caminus. Windblade, Chromia, and Metrocas.”

Windblade was a sleek flyer, almost a Seeker, but not quite. She had red markings around her eyes and wore a high, Aura crest. Chromia led the way, but her posture was almost protective of the smaller flyer.

“The representatives of Carcer. Obsidian, Elita One, and Maridice.” 

Elita One had an awkwardly shaped helm that only served to support her towering headpiece. Optimus took in her proud expression and haughty body language. Something told the young Prime that he and this femme would not get along.

When the representatives of Carcer were seated, there were six chairs left open, strange because there was only one city left not represented. 

There was a long pause and then the Herald spoke, almost unwillingly. “The representatives of Vos. Pharma, Starscream, and Sunstorm, and their bodyguards Skywarp, Thundercracker, and Metalhawk.”

A murmur went around the hall. Six Seekers? In the ballroom with them? Three had been bad enough to these nobles, but there were to be six with them. Harsh whisperings broke out, casting aspersion before the mechs were even through the doors.

Optimus felt his dentas grit and the Matrix cooled and sank in his chest, saddened at the display of disgust from the nobility. How had Sentinel stood its moods with his own views so twisted? He decided to do something about it. In fact, there was only one thing he could do. As Starscream led the way into the hall, Optimus Prime, Bearer of the Matrix, Ruler of Iacon, Channel of Primus, and various other honors and titles, stood to greet him and his framekin. 

There was a gasp from the assembled scorners, especially from the oldest nobles and Senators, and Elita One looked scandalized, but Optimus had his optics fixed upon the doors and the three, slender Seekers stepping through. Reluctantly, but not daring to remain seated once the Prime so pointedly stood, the rest of the assembled nobility got to their pedes and turned to face the three Seekers.

Pharma was an ethereal sight in pale blue sateen and a headdress spiked with blue crystals towering into the air. Shockwave must have intervened, finding them appropriate decorations and items. He was a medic, Optimus remembered, and was delicate all over, like a treat or a decoration. Sunstorm was golden and robed in purple, making his coloring all the more obvious. His headdress mirrored his name, being a stylized half of the sun, cupping his helm. Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Metalhawk were tastefully decorated with bracers and ribbands in black. Their outfits were simple, as bodyguards were supposed to be, and tasteful.

At the front of them all, Starscream dominated the room. He was dressed in cream and every line of the robe was soft and fragile. Nevertheless, he emanated a certain vitality that made him more alive than any of the other mechs in the room. On his helm, almost entirely disguising the black metal, a crown of Aura and green and blue gems was set. It was by far the most ornate piece there, resembling a cybercock’s spread out tail very strongly, but came across as elegant and regal on the Seeker’s helm, especially since he wore no other decoration on the cream robe or his wrists or wings.

There was a silence in the hall as the six Seekers approached the table and, as one, executed a very proper, Vosnian curtsy and greeting, addressing the assembly in High Vosnian before straightening, clearly waiting for a response.

Optimus found himself smiling beneath his mask. None of them would ever forget that moment. Never. With Starscream radiant and his five companions elegant, the Seekers carried the room. Optimus made a mental note to shake Shockwave’s servo. The display of politeness, wealth, and culture, even borrowed wealth, had shaken the nobility and established the Seekers as nothing to be dismissed lightly. It would be talked about long after Optimus was Prime no longer. Perhaps the display had challenged perceptions, perhaps not, but it would never be forgotten.

Now, he could only hope the Matrix allowed him what he needed. If it rejected Starscream, he had no idea what he would do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> You see that question mark? The one where number of chapters is supposed to be?
> 
> ...
> 
> I surrender. The fic wins. Bring it on, muse!

After the tables were cleared away, musicians were brought and a minuet began playing. Elita One claimed Optimus’s servo and the first dance.

Optimus smiled pleasantly behind his facemask, as Manners had told him that if one was close, they could see his expressions in his optics. “Hello, Elita One. How do you find Cybertron?”

“It’s pleasant enough, I suppose. Carcer is very small in comparison. We are a mining colony and have a small surface city.”

“I remember reading about Carcer’s mines. Very deep, very dangerous. Gems and minerals of every kind, if I recall.”

“Of course.” Elita spun away in time with the music. “And other commodities.”

Optimus smiled stiffly and tracked Starscream’s movements as the Seekers took up a kind of vanguard near the edge of the ball room and watched, smiles as stiff and fixed as his own.

It was only after a rather fast Merengue with Drift that Optimus had a chance to approach the three representatives from Vos. “Would one of you do me the honor of this next dance?”

Starscream turned to Pharma and spoke in Vosnian. For that matter, the red and white Seeker had spoken in nothing but ever since he had arrived. It was puzzling. Optimus was grateful that he had studied the language. “Pharma, why don’t you show our Prime how we waltz in Vos?”

Pharma nodded and stood on his pedes, dropping another Vosian curtsy. As they danced, Pharma spoke in Common Iacon. “Forgive Starscream. He can speak Common Iacon, he’s simply not choosing to at the moment.”

“Is there a reason why?”

“I assume as a kind of defensive measure. He does not have a happy history with Iacon.”

“I see. Of course, I understand. I can speak Vosnian.”

“That is not a skill I would have attributed to a Prime.”

“I was not always Prime, nor in the line. This was as much an accident of fate as anything else.”

“Ah.” Pharma smiled softly. “Still, I think you will be good for Cybertron. You are… different from Sentinel, and that gives us hope.”

Optimus nodded, executed a graceful movement, and escorted Pharma off of the dance floor on his arm. Of course, having just favored the Vosnian delegation, he couldn’t possibly ask for another dance without showing “undue favoritism” to the Seekers. 

A stiff dance with Arcee later, he was back, paying court and finding himself with Sunstorm in his arms. Again, not the mech he was angling for. The Matrix glowed in amusement at his predicament. Apparently, it sympathized more with Starscream than Optimus. Either that, or it knew the game the Seeker was playing.

At last, Optimus heard the beginning strains of Divenire, a five-step Vosnian piece of music, that would surely tempt Starscream onto the variegate floor if Optimus could only get to his side without being intercepted by yet another of the mecha he had not danced with yet.

The Matrix was bouncing between warm and chilly among the candidates presented. Sentinel had been such a liar, if he claimed that the Matrix would “thrill” for any one mech. Instead, it seemed to be offering general approval or disapproval based on the topics each mecha chose. And, it seemed, the longer the evening went on, the more engex was drunk, the more the other representatives opened up their vitriol reservoirs and unleashed them upon the Seekers, sitting quietly and harming no one.

The Matrix felt heavy in Optimus’s chest by the time he got close to Starscream, but the artifact perked up when Starscream turned his faceplates to the Prime and addressed him in Vosnian. “Well, if you have persisted in coming back three times, you must be determined to have a dance with me and, as the Divenire is playing, I find myself inclined to accept.”

Optimus smiled behind his mask, genuinely. “I would love that.” He responded in Vosnian. “Why don’t we?” He offered a servo and pulled Starscream to his pedes.

Dropping a servo to Starscream’s waist, Optimus began leading the Seeker. “How has life treated you, all these vorns, Starscream?”

“I have been fed and have a roof above my head. My brothers and I share an apartment. We are… content.” Starscream replied. 

“I’m glad to hear that. You painted a rather grim picture the last time we spoke and my research led me to dread the worst.” Optimus spun Starscream and dipped the Seeker low. The Vosnian five-step was a very free dance. There was little that broke its rules and the sky was the limit.

“It’s getting worse, Optimus.” Starscream lifted his pedes, skipping ahead a step and twisting. “My people are scared: Fewer Sparklings are being born and fewer are surviving.”

“What can we do?”

“Change the world.” Starscream pressed against Optimus’s chassis and murmured earnestly. “Choose me, Optimus. Show these overblown mechs that Seekers are as beloved of Primus as any other frametype, and you’ll open the doors for improvements in everything.”

Optimus chuckled. “You know, for all the double talk and simpering I’ve been listening to, the representatives are remarkably evasive about what they want. You are the first mech to outright ask or order me to choose you.”

“I take that as a great compliment.” Starscream spun away and back into his arms. “I will do what I must to help my people.” With a small motion, he showed Optimus one of his plates and the barely there outline of the Decepticon insignia. It had been painted over to hide it, but it was there. “I have not been able to do much yet. Megatron of Kaon is working to assemble demonstrations of discountent, but they will not go far without a sympathetic ear in the Primacy and the Senate. We have Shockwave and a few other Senators, but the Prime is ruler: Your word is supreme over Senate and City. Stretch out your servo and, with care, you can navigate Cybertron away from the inevitable war.”

Optimus listened carefully. “Starscream, regardless if I choose you,” He was definitely going to choose him, “I would do my utmost to institute a fair system of justice and help your people.”

“I suppose that’s all I can really ask.” Starscream leaned against him, warm and alive, engines purring, and Optimus knew he was well and truly doomed. 

Of course, they had to part sooner or later, but not without a scandalous second dance, in spite of the disapproving Windblade.

The Matrix tugged on Optimus’s spark in Starscream’s direction. It wasn’t anything resembling a “thrill” but it was most certainly an insistent pinch and tug. 

Oh, yes, Optimus’s processor was thoroughly made up where Starscream was concerned.

At last, the evening came to an end. It was time to make the choice. Which city would be honored to provide Prime’s consort? Praxus, elegant and wealthy in its speed? Caminus, with its rich history and faith in Primus? Iacon, home of the Prime’s palace and the seat of the Senate?

Optimus smiled behind his mask. “Honored members of the nobility, I stand before you to present my Primus-Blessed Consort and chosen sparkmate.” He took a slim bracelet from his wrist and approached the spot where Elita One stood.


	5. Chapter 5

Elita One smiled in triumph, holding out a wrist to Prime, but he merely stopped in front of her and gently gestured to the side. “Excuse me.”

Elita’s faceplates heated in embarrassment and she stepped to the side, revealing the mecha she was standing in front of. While she glared at Optimus’s back, he gently took Starscream’s servo and clasped the bracelet around his wrist.

Starscream had assumed a rather insipid expression and smile, but Optimus could see the open triumph in his optics. In Vosnian, he spoke his acceptance, “Thank you, Optimus. I will stand at your side to the best of my abilities.”

Optimus responded in Vosnian before translating for the assembly. There was a long silence about the hall before the nobles applauded, smiling stiffly. With his choice, Optimus had made enemies that evening, for himself and Starscream.

Senator Shockwave approached to congratulate Optimus as the party dissolved. “Well, you certainly gave every mech here something to gossip about tonight.”

“Let them talk.” Optimus shrugged. “The Matrix decided and I agreed.” He extended a servo and clasped Shockwave’s own. “Thank you.”

“Thank Megatron. He bought the decorations himself. Most of Vos can be counted in the Decepticon party.” Shockwave smiled back. “I’m very glad that you and your predecessor do not share his views on the Seekers.”

“I do not understand Sentinel’s reasoning.” Optimus admitted. “All this evening, the Matrix has been showing approval to the Seekers and becomes cold and disapproving whenever somemech derides them. How could Sentinel have missed such clear communication?”

Shockwave pursed his lips. “At a later time, I would ask you to entertain my theories, but it has already been a long night and I must see my guests home. I recommend you rest as well, young Prime. You have invited attack upon yourself. Take care.”

“Thank you, Senator. Bid Starscream good night for me.” The Seeker had feigned shock and shyness and made his escape, presumably to consider and celebrate in peace.

“I will. Good night, Prime.”

“Good night, Senator.” Optimus returned to his rooms and laid down on his berth to sleep. The Matrix was like a large, content cyberkitten in his chassis.

In the morning, Optimus noted that the attendants, usually so insistent on polishing and harrying him out the door, were quiet and subdued. “Is something wrong, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper?”

Bumblebee jumped and rubbed his helm. “Apologies, Prime. We… We’re just tired.”

“How could you want to bond to one of those slagging Seekers!” Cliffjumper blurted. “It just- It just ain’t done!”

“Cliffjumper, Seekers are children of Primus as surely as you or I are.” Optimus chastised gently. Both mechs were very young and easily excited. Their intolerance could be forgiven. “Aside from that, it wasn’t entirely my choice.” He set a servo on his windshield. “The Matrix responded to Starscream.”

“But why? No one likes the Seekers! They’re children of Unicron!”

“Bite your glossa.” Optimus spoke sharply, needing to stomp on that oft-quoted misconception. “Cliffjumper, that’s a myth. Seekers no more bear Unicron’s blood than any other frametype. They are able to fly, yes, and are warriors, but they are not children of the Unmaker. It is impossible for Unicron to create anything, much less a new frametype.” He patted the small mech’s helm. “Do not allow your preconceptions to get in the way of accepting others. For better or worse, Starscream and his handmecha and their bodyguards are going to stay here, in Iacon. We may as well be welcoming.”

Cliffjumper worried at his lipplates. “I- I will try, Prime. For your sake.”

“Thank you, Cliffjumper. If you let them be themselves, I think you will find our Seekers good friends.”

After that, the two mechs set to their work again, but when Bumblebee offered Optimus the headdress he had been wearing, he refused it. “Is there anything simpler, Bumblebee?”

“I can check again.” Bumblebee looked. “This is the simplest. I’m sorry. Should I ask Manners?”

“No, don’t ask Manners. I just won’t wear a headdress today.”

Cliffjumper dropped the bracer he had been holding. “What?”

“They are very heavy and uncomfortable. I simply won’t wear one until something can be made.” Optimus stood, accepting the bracer. His organizer stepped in. “Ah, Prowl. What is on the agenda for today?”

Prowl read off of his datapad. “First, breakfast with your intended. Then, a meeting with the Senate to discuss a new bill being presented by the Praxian delegation. A break for lunch and then an inspection of the guard. Finally, a lesson with Alpha Trion in hand to hand.”

“Is martial arts truly necessary, Prowl? I don’t want to seem distrusting.”

“On the contrary, Prime.” Prowl explained. “Practicing martial arts is an excellent way to show off your physical prowess and a common entertainment for the nobility. You may find yourself challenged to spar and should be able to answer appropriately.”

“I see. Very well then.”

Prowl continued. “Further, this practice will help in relations with your Intended. As a warrior frametype, Starscream likely values martial skill in other mechs.”

“Prowl?”

“Yes, Optimus?”

“You made that sound unnecessarily creepy.”

“Apologies.” Prowl put away the datapad. “Shall we? Breakfast is prepared in the Solarium.”

“Prowler, Prime doesn’t want to wear his headgear today.” Cliffjumper protested.

Prowl looked Optimus over, taking in the bracers and fine cloak Bumblebee had chosen. “It is not required. Sentinel sometimes went for weeks without his headdress, Cliffjumper and, if I do say so, it may be time for a simpler Primacy.”

“I agree. Besides, it was heavy and uncomfortable.” Optimus strode past Prowl and out into the halls on his way to the Solarium. His two guards, Ironhide and Tracks, fell into step behind him.

The Solarium was a room made of glass and filled with foliage both domestic and exotic. Starscream was sitting at an elegant table laid with a white cloth and fine vessels. The Seeker was stroking the cloth absently and, once again, Optimus felt a twist of disgust for the utter luxury he was surrounded by: Fabric, especially organic fabric, was a luxury no lower class worker could possibly afford and yet it seemed that he could not escape it. The Palace was lined with it, padded with it, and Optimus couldn’t help but enjoy it. The privilege of rank, but at the expense of his people.

Starscream looked up, smiling softly. He had been freshly sprayed with glittercoat, Optimus recognized, and wore a small diadem on his forehelm. “Optimus.” He was still speaking in Vosnian. “I was wondering when you would arrive.”

“Am I late?” Optimus responded in the Seeker language, aware that no one else in the room could understand it. It was a relief, being able to keep some measure of privacy between them. Optimus began to see why Starscream refused to speak anything else. “I apologize. There was a bit of an argument over whether or not I should leave without my headdress.”

“You look much more handsome without it.” Starscream sympathized. “And I can’t imagine it was any more comfortable than mine was.”

“You, at least, could carry it off. You looked magnificent.”

“Thank you.” Starscream smiled softly. “Megatron commissioned our pieces when the call for representatives came.”

“You must introduce me to Megatron when there is a chance.”

“He will be part of my wedding party, standing in the place of my Carrier and Creator as… they cannot.”

Optimus sat down catty-corner to the Seeker. “I’m so sorry, Starscream.” He placed a servo on Starscream’s.

Starscream nodded. “I wonder if they would be proud of me: Former Scientist, Intended of the Prime. They would worry, of course. They always worried over me and all of my siblings, but would they be proud?”

“Of course they would. Only a fool wouldn’t be, and if your parents were anything like you, they were not fools.”

Starscream smiled softly. “Sometimes, you say the sweetest things, my big lug of a Prime.”

Optimus chuckled. “My adroit Seeker, such a sharp glossa you have. Tssk, tssk.”

Starscream smirked. “It’s my charm.”

Breakfast arrived and they sat back from the table to allow the servers to do their jobs. Optimus smiled at Starscream: Whatever happened next, they were well and truly stuck on each other.


	6. Chapter 6

Starscream, Pharma, and Sunstorm were invited to Elita One’s Iacon residence for afternoon energon. Starscream could read between the lines: This was less a social call than a declaration. Of what, he did not know, but the language presented in the invitation was almost challenging him to attend. 

Of course, Starscream knew exactly what Mecha in Iacon thought of Seekers: Unintelligent, uneducated, and barbaric. They were blinded by their conceptions and in their ignorance, thought themselves superior. 

Perfect. 

Pharma was a “civilized” Seeker, meaning that he spent a great deal of time in Iacon and had a better life than most. He was far from noble, but kept an apartment in Iacon, which was where the Seekers were staying, crammed in like sardines. Space concerns aside, it was an ideal location, close to the palacial district and especially Senator Shockwave’s residence. The good Senator had offered them his own hospitality, but the Seekers politely turned him down. This was Seeker business and they had their own rituals to complete.

Besides, Starscream did not want to be especially beholden to Shockwave or Megatron, necessary as it was that he accept their help. He knew Megatron would expect him to bend Optimus’s audials to his interests, but Starscream also knew that that would not always be possible. If he and Optimus were to remain in power and relatively secure, even Matrix-bearers had been assassinated, after all, he had to play the populace and analyze the balances of power. Which meant favoring interests that were not in line with the Decepticon party occasionally. That would not please Megatron, who thought in simple terms of honor and truth that had been drilled into him in the pits of Kaon. 

Honor and truth being a handicap in politics.

Starscream sipped low-grade energon through a straw. Pharma had just finished applying a glittering clearcoat to his faceplates and he didn’t want to mess it up. Elita would have a keen eye for flaws and he owed her no ammunition against him.

Pharma spoke to Starscream. “What are you thinking of?”

“I’m considering our invitation to tea, Pharma.” Starscream stood up and stretched his wings. “I’m trying to see what Elita gains by inviting us.”

“Well, she looks gracious, I suppose, and gets a chance to take our measure.” Pharma considered. “She might also intend to threaten or poison you.”

“No, that’s too obvious. She’s smarter than that.” Starscream doubted he was in danger of such a direct attack so soon. He might be in danger of a more subtle attack, humiliation or some such, that would cast doubt on his worthiness to be Prime’s consort.

It was one of the reasons that he was still refusing to speak in Common Iacon. He was presenting a prominent, but nonexistent weakness so that his enemies would attempt to exploit this obstacle which was not one. At the same time, the “language barrier” would encourage the nobles and senators to speak freely around him, dismissing him as a simple Seeker, unable to speak their language and below their notice. Of course, at the proper moment, he would reveal himself as he was, and then he might come into actual, physical danger from political enemies.

How typical of Nobles: Thinking themselves great simply because others were not.

Starscream’s brooding was interrupted by his two brothers. Skywarp and Thundercracker were going a little stir-crazy and were currently wrestling about on the floor.

Starscream sighed through his nasal vent. Skywarp was highly intelligent. A little too intelligent, in fact. If he couldn’t fly or do something with himself, he became a troublemaker and intolerable. Starscream would have to keep an eye on him at the Palace of the Prime. Of course, he was going to insist that the trine of bodyguards stay at all costs. If Optimus ever came under threat, Starscream did not trust the palace guard to stand with them. His Seekers, however, would at all costs.

Though he could do without some of his brothers’ more obnoxious traits. Skywarp’s tendency to play pranks, for example, would be best left controlled and Thundercracker would be helpless if someone didn’t give him an order. He could be double-talked into saying something regrettable to the wrong people. 

Still, when Thundercracker was on guard, it was difficult to get him to speak two words to a mech. Starscream would just have to ensure that Metalhawk kept an eye on him. And Skywarp’s rather unique ability to teleport had saved their plating from a few close shaves in fights and in Iacon. He would be an invaluable spy and somewhat of an enforcer.

Starscream smirked to himself. There was an advantage to being surrounded by mecha who were more concerned with their image than their lives. Find something suitably embarrassing, and they ran to hand like petrorabbits to energon. Of course, if he could manage it, he wanted them to feel loyalty to their Prime in spite of his choice of bondmate, not that there was anything wrong with Starscream. 

He sipped again, thinking. By his nature, he could be deceptive and lied well. He was easily one of the best liars on Cybertron and, by the same token, the best at recognizing liars. Elita One had no idea what she was getting into. None of the rival representatives did. They had been nobodies from nowhere when Starscream was the talk of Iacon and especially the Science Academy. That none of the nobles had sought to reveal his “murderous and suspect” past only showed their arrogance and the shortness of their memories concerning those they saw as below them. 

Skywarp clocked Thundercracker a good blow to his helm and Starscream spoke. “Stop that at once. You have to be presentable for this afternoon.”

Skywarp glared at him. “I was just having fun!”

“I could see that. And, as usual, it was too much fun. Help Thundercracker get rid of that mark and then behave like civilized mecha for just a few more klicks.” Starscream glared his unruly brothers into submission and sent them off to the washracks to polish out the mark. With that taken care of, he went back to considering the view of Iacon. In truth, he sympathized more with Thundercracker and Skywarp than he could show. He himself had little freedom of movement at the moment because he was wearing a deep green velvet gown that Shockwave had just had delivered. For obvious reasons, the Seekers hadn’t been sent with a full wardrobe already made. It was a risky investment to patron a representative. If Optimus had chosen any of the other cities, they would be out a great deal of money. In order to ensure that they could cut their losses, they had been sent with a minimum on hand and preparations for others standing by.

Still, now that Starscream had been selected, Shockwave had been greenlighted for extravagance by Ratbat, the Decepticon movement’s accountant, and the good Senator was making use of it. 

Starscream felt a little sparksick as he touched the collar of rust pearls lying against his chassis. It was hardly worth a fortune, but it was more than most Seekers ever saw in their lifetime. More than most tank mechs or gun formers ever saw. He determined to cut back on decorations and put the shanix to better use elsewhere as soon as he could afford to. There was a very complex plan in motion, webs and nets of razorwire closing in on the hapless nobles, and Starscream was at the center.

His lipplates pressed together as he delicately set the vessel of energon down on the table nearby. He stretched his concealed legs, watching the play of light over the velvet. His wings arched a little higher, free from the fabric and seeking the sky. He laid his arms around the chaise’s back and armrest, pulling himself into a more comfortable position. To an outsider, he would look contemplative, but relaxed. Perhaps even content.

There would be an accounting, one day, for every sin against his people.


	7. Chapter 7

Optimus found that his choice of mecha was effecting his reception in the Senate. Several Senators that had been warm, even sycophantic, were now chilly and their manner biting. It was enough disrespect that Prowl, who had taken up a position as his Major Domo, saw fit to reprimand them.

Optimus listened to the particulars of the bill being put forth. He was confused by the intricacies, but it seemed to come down to one thing: More taxes. He shook his helm and made a note on his datapad to veto the bill if it crossed his desk after the Senators were done arguing it.

As he listened to the filibuster Senator Tractor was delivering, Optimus considered that there couldn’t possibly be a less efficient way to change laws. 

It was a great relief when he looked up into the mezzanine and spotted, among the watching mechs, three sets of wings: Starscream, Pharma, and Metalhawk. Pharma’s helm was close to Starscream’s, presumably pretending to act as a translator. Optimus mentally made a note to exchange comm frequencies next time he had a moment with the other mech, perhaps Starscream could figure out the more confusing portions of the Senator’s speaking. 

When the Seeker noticed that the Prime’s attention was on him, he waggled his wings in greeting and then flicked them down towards the floor in a clear order to pay attention.

Optimus was struck by the urge to wave back at Starscream, but suppressed it. There was no need to draw attention to the mech and make it obvious that he was not paying attention. Though the latter was less a crime than a commonplace, it seemed, as he could see several Senators with their helms lowered and optics shuttered.

Prowl finally called the Session closed and the bill was thus “killed” by Tractor’s filibuster. Shockwave and the rest of his allies seemed relieved. 

Optimus stood up and walked out. As he did so, Starscream and his two escorts appeared. They executed their Vosnian curtsy and Optimus nodded back, taking Starscream’s servo and kissing it. “How was your energon with Elita One?”

“Tiring. She isn’t a very good host.” Starscream responded, dismissing Pharma and Metalhawk with a gesture. “She speaks when she should listen and as for listening, does not do it at all. It was less an afternoon meal than a peeping show. Come, see the barbaric Seekers. Let their strange mannerisms horrify and disturb. Be shocked at how different they are.”

Optimus chuckled and offered his arm for the Seeker to take. “That sounds quite unpleasant.”

“Oh, it was actually quite funny. I told Pharma to make an excuse to leave the room so they could speak freely.” He smirked. “I will have to remember their words so that I may throw them back in their faces.”

“Try not to make enemies.” Optimus cautioned. “I have noticed a change in the Senate ever since last night.”

“You surely knew there would be one.” Starscream cajoled. “You chose a Seeker over the civilized mecha of Iacon and Caminus. It was a shock to their systems, I imagine.”

Optimus nodded and pressed a Servo to his windshields. “It was the Matrix, Starscream, as much as I who chose you. These mecha have no complaints that I will listen to over it. Primus has spoken.”

Starscream laughed, a pretty, bejeweled thing, and they continued on out into the sunlight. “It is good to be blessed and to know it, is it not? Imagine those who must fumble blindly in the dark.” There was a slight, mocking air to his words.

Optimus looked down inquiringly. “You do not believe in Primus?”

“Why should I? He certainly has not done anything to encourage my belief, though you becoming Prime is a step in the right direction.” Starscream shook his helm. “I can think of reasons for the Matrix to behave as it does without Primus just as I can think of a hundred ways the priests fake their seasonal “miracles” and hail in the new vorns.”

“Are the seasonal miracles falsified?”

“Of course. You didn’t believe in those as well, do you? They’re a gimmick: something to keep the populace happy and remind them that Primus watches all.” He smirked. “You did believe in them, didn’t you?”

Optimus was silent for a long moment. 

Starscream curled close. “You’re fortunate to have me to clear up these manipulative myths for you.”

Optimus pulled him closer. “Or unlucky to have such a skeptic.”

They parted outside of the Senate house, Starscream rejoining his two friends and Optimus heading for the Palace with Prowl and Ironhide in tow.

Prowl and Starscream exchanged long glances full of resentment and stiff nods before they parted.

After a long moment, Optimus dared broach the subject with Prowl. “Do you object to my choice of bondmate, Prowl?”

“I do, admittedly, though it is for personal reasons.” Prowl admitted to Optimus. “Seekers and Praxians have a near-instinctive hatred of each other.”

“I see. Why is that?”

“Cultural reasons. Praxians have doorwings, as you’ve surely noticed. The legend goes that those who became Praxians were descended from Seekers who either lost or chose to give up their wings. That is an affront to most Seekers, so Vos and Praxus have always been at odds.” Prowl explained dispassionately. 

“That is rather odd. Starscream has not yet mentioned anything of the kind.” Optimus considered. “I have noticed that High Praxian is very similar to Low Vosnian.”

“Indeed. That is a result of our shared ancestry. I do speak High Praxian and Low Vosnian, but the dialect that you and Starscream speak in is incomprehensible to me. I do not enjoy that, but I understand that you wish to have privacy with your intended. He will have to learn Common Iacon at some point, though.”

Optimus was glad to note that Vosnian, which would have been called High Vosnian had it been another city, was beyond Prowl’s processor. He was still not entirely sure he could trust the dispassionate Praxian and Starscream had his reasons for keeping his mastery of Common Iacon under wraps. “We do want to have privacy. It is wearing to be watched and guarded at all times.” He waved a pacifying servo. “I understand the need. However, it is a change that one does not get used to all at once. From commoner to Prime is a leap that few have made.”

Prowl nodded. “Understood, Prime.”

Ironhide was uncharacteristically quiet. In their short time, Optimus had learned that the outspoken mech rarely had nothing to say.

“Ironhide, do you approve of my choice?”

“Optimus, Ah never liked Seekers. Always seemed a little snooty ta’ me. But it ain’t mah place to talk about your intended. It’s your spark.”

“Thank you, Ironhide. That was surprisingly open-minded.”

Ironhide shrugged. “He is purty. Always liked tricolored mechs.”

Optimus chuckled. “This one is mine, though.” His optics danced as they continued along.

“Optimus Prime, may I have a moment of your time?” Senator Tracer, an unusually bold and ancient Senator, was approaching them at a quick clip for a mech of his age.

Optimus sighed. He had seen some of the legislation Tracer submitted and much of the bills he supported. Neither endeared the venerable mech to him. “Of course, Senator. Prowl, Ironhide, do you mind giving the Senator and myself a moment?”

Prowl nodded, doorwings twitching in a bow. “Of course, Prime.” They drew away from the two government personages and Optimus turned to Senator Tracer.

The Senator was extremely agitated and, as Optimus considered the direction he had come from, realized that the mech could very well have seen him and Starscream walking through the halls, arm in arm. Perhaps this had provoked this confrontation.


	8. Chapter 8

Senator Tracer drew him off to a side garden where, presumably, they would not be disturbed. Tracer himself was a member of the old guard, one of Sentinel Prime’s personal friends, and it showed in his political views. He had been especially cold to Optimus in the session today and Optimus feared that it had more than a little to do with his choice of bondmate.

Optimus took a seat on a bench and gestured to allow Tracer to do the same, but the Senator was too agitated to relax and waved the offer off. “I will remain on my pedes, Prime. I am quite disturbed. More than that, I am concerned.”

Optimus had the feeling this sort of double talk would mark their discussion strongly. “Indeed, Senator Tracer? About what?”

“If I must be candid, I am disturbed that you would choose a Seeker for your consort. It has never been done before and I cannot stay silent while one of those wretched warframes subverts the primacy.”

Optimus held up a servo. “I did not choose Starscream. Not entirely. Primus has spoken through the Matrix where my consort is concerned. Or do you believe that Primus is wrong?”

The look on Tracer’s faceplates told Optimus that he did indeed think the Matrix quite wrong. “Of course not, Prime, but I fear that, perhaps, it has been wrongly interpreted. Sentinel spoke of the Matrix as a vague artifact without true communication. He spoke of it playing games and changing moods at a whim. Perhaps you have been confused by its communications.”

Optimus shook his head. “No, Senator Tracer, I am not confused. Whatever Sentinel may have said or experienced, I have found the Matrix to be quite clear. When I act in accord with Primus’s will, the Matrix gives me assurance. When I consider going outside it, it becomes a lump of lead in my chassis. Is such a message mistakeable?”

Senator Tracer scowled at being so easily undermined. “Sentinel spoke of the Matrix as being a subtle object and not-“ He broke off, realizing a conclusion that Orion Pax had been forced to come to himself.

Sentinel had lost his connection to the Matrix. Either that, or he had never had it in the first place. Thus, with his absolute power secured, he had been free to oppress the Seekers and other warframes without thought to what Primus’s will on the matter was. Whether other Primes had this connection as well was up for debate. For now, Optimus needed more time to think and perhaps to discuss with Starscream and Senator Shockwave on their own theories, both having expressed that they had developed them.

Senator Tracer stood stiffly. “Very well, Optimus Prime. I suppose only time can tell whether you are correct or not.”

“Indeed, Senator Tracer. It was a pleasure.” It had been no such thing, but Optimus was hardly going to be rude about it.

Senator Tracer stomped off, but Optimus remained in the private garden. Was this how it was going to be? Him against the world, bound to his principles by the Matrix and his own morals, but opposed by those who had grown comfortable in their corruption. He determined to ensure that it didn’t sway him from his path or purpose.

Standing, he rejoined his bodyguards only to be approached by Senator Mirage. 

“Senator Mirage.” He greeted the other. “Do you need something?”

“I merely wished to discuss the details of an upcoming bill with you, Optimus Prime.” Mirage smiled. “It’s a new set of guidances on…” While he jabbered good-naturedly, Optimus considered the quest he had set for himself. Free the Seekers and the other Warframes was so easy on the surface, but how was he to go about it? What were the steps?

Mirage finally reached the end of his “discussion,” which sounded more like a filibuster than anything, when Optimus interrupted him. “Senator Mirage, if I wanted to change something, how would I go about it?”

“Well, as Prime, you could always issue an executive order, but, if I may say so, that isn’t the best way to go about enacting change. Depending upon the severity of the change, it may take a great deal of time and effort.”

“What if I wanted to change something that’s culturally ingrained? The way the caste system is structured or how -say- Seekers are thought of.”

Mirage shuttered and unshuttered his optics. “That’s… That’s an interesting dilemma. It would be very difficult, especially for the nobility, to accept such action. There would he trouble, doubtless.” He considered. “The way you have begun is as good as any. Taking a Seeker to wed will force others to face them. If they are well-behaved and civilized, the nobles as a whole may begin to change their tune. Another action you might take… You could try to repeal the War Frame Control Act as well. That would definitely change things, at least legally.”

“The War Frame Control Act?”

“Oh, yes. One of the first pieces of legislation Sentinel Prime ever signed into law. Strictures on warframes and their cities. I would read it, if I were you.” Mirage leaned in slightly. “It might help your understanding with your Seeker.”

Optimus chuckled. “He’s no more my Seeker than the sky itself is mine.”

“But he’s to be your bonded.”

“That doesn’t make him mine. In fact, I think he would object stringently, though I would have to talk to him about it.” Optimus turned back towards the Palace. “Starscream is a bit of a free spirit.”

“He might be good for the social scene at least. Liven things up a bit.” Mirage smiled back. “Thank you for listening to my concerns, Prime, and good luck.”

“Good luck?” Optimus turned back slightly.

“With the state dinner this evening, Optimus Prime. Don’t you remember?”

Optimus shot a glance at Prowl, who nodded in confirmation. “Oh, of course. Will you be attending?”

“I don’t see why not. I may bring a friend.” Mirage bowed and turned, walking off on his own business.

“State dinner?” Optimus questioned Prowl.

Prowl pulled a datapad out. “This evening, at the seventeenth cycle, there is a banquet scheduled for you, specific members of the Senate: Mirage, Shockwave, and select others including Tracer, then Starscream and the members of his representational party. Megatron of Kaon and a select number of this ‘Decepticon Party’ he’s gathered will be arriving this evening, just in time. Gladiators and barbarians all.” Optimus had the distinct impression that he was not meant to have heard the last part of that statement.

“Prowl, please bear in mind that these people are my intended’s friends and allies. They are not enemies of yours or mine.” Optimus looked around at the small circle they made. “That goes for all of you. Starscream is not an enemy and neither are the Decepticons, warframes and gladiators or not.”

“We’re with you, Prime, or at least ah am.” Ironhide agreed. “Personally, I’ve met some former gladiators and Ah like ‘em. Especially the racer twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Ah’ll assign them to security for the evening. Maybe they’ll see some familiar faces there, put them more at ease.”

“Thank you, Ironhide.” Optimus responded. “Once again, that is remarkably progressive of you and I do enjoy hearing a fresh opinion.”

“Ah’ve got no problems with Seekers or warframes in general. There’s mechs and then there’s mechs and no one can tell the difference by frame or by city.” Ironhide explained. “Ah’ve known Praxians Ah wish had never been sparked and Ah’ve known Seekers that Ah wish had lived longer.”

Prowl growled and remained silent. Once again, Optimus wondered exactly how far he could trust the Praxian mech.


	9. Chapter 9

Starscream allowed Pharma to paint traditional symbols onto his cheekplates. The medic’s skillful, quick hands leant themselves to cosmetics with surprising ease and the elegant lines and knotted curves of the Vosnian glyphs required a practiced servo.

Pharma finally sat back on his heels. They were dressed in a very traditional Vosnian style that evening: Flowing gowns and sashes that wrapped about them without getting in the way of either thrusters or wings. Starscream wore a golden sash diagonally over his cockpit and a skirt of scarlet gause flowed down from it. One chassis vent was exposed. He was encrusted with jewels, borrowed from the Winglord’s family and delivered by Megatron himself along with an antique and deeply traditional bridal robe. With an annoyed flick, Pharma corrected the placement of the bangle dangling down over Starscream’s forehelm for the thirtieth time. “It just won’t stay still!”

“Do I have to wear the whole thing? I feel ridiculous.” Starscream complained, touching the layered Aura and Scarlet Diamond collar with irritated digits.

“It’s tradition, Starscream.” Sunstorm pointed out as Pharma clipped the magnetic string of hematite to his nasal vent. Starscream had refused his own nasal string. “We have so little left, it’s important to preserve what we do have.”

“Yes, I know, Sunstorm, but isn’t this truly too much?” Starscream got to his pedes with a tinkle of hundreds of miniscule bells and gestured downwards at the scarlet and gold gauze. “I feel as if I have been weighted. I won’t be able to fly like this.”

“It’s a good thing we’re being transported, not flying then.” Pharma stated lightly and stood up. His own dangles were blue crystals set into Argent and his wrists jangled with a hundred jingling bangles set with Aura bells.

“As if that is traditional.”

“It is in Iacon.” Sunstorm pacified the Prime’s Intended, admiring his own strings of rust pearls, which were draped liberally over his frame and hanging from his wings. “And in our own city-“

“I know, I know, Sunstorm. I am aware of our culture. I do not always appreciate or wish to practice it, but I am at least aware of it. Give me that much credit.” Starscream sighed, turning back to the window. “Has the transport arrived yet?”

“I should hope not. I’m not done with my shutter-paint.” Pharma was lightly applying a violet clear-coat over his optics. 

“It would be extremely early if it was.” Sunstorm pointed out. “We are supposed to have another klickcycle.”

Starscream checked the state of his gown in the mirror for the third time. “I feel as if something is coming. Something intending harm to all of us. I don’t like it.”

“Nerves are a perfectly natural response to an impending bonding. They will get worse as the ceremonies approach.” Pharma soothed, batting his optic-shutters.

“There are ten decacycles of balls, rituals, and pomp before that. This isn’t nerves.” Starscream snapped. 

“You just keep telling yourself that.” Sunstorm murmured, fixing his black sash.

Starscream hissed and rattled his wings at Sunstorm. The other Seeker drooped his own and made apologetic chirping noises. After a moment, Starscream’s threat rattle subsided and he turned back to the window with a huff.

Metalhawk entered. “Is all well in here? I heard a threat rattle.”

“You’ll hear another one soon enough if you keep asking stupid questions.” Starscream replied, dabbing at a microscopic flaw in his lipplate cream.

“I was merely checking.”

Starscream raised his wings high and fluttered them, letting the light catch on the glossy clearcoat. “And you have seen we are all well. You are dismissed.”

Metalhawk bowed. “Very well. Shall I tell Lord Megatron all is ready?”

“Do so.” Starscream agreed. “We are merely waiting for our transport.”

Metalhawk’s oddity- his wings are swords and placed on his lower arms- makes him something of a Seeker to himself. Why the mutation took place is not a question Starscream is fit to answer. They certainly are a disadvantage. Though Vosnian is a language of glyph and sound, it is also a language of subtlety. The angle of a wing, the placing of a thruster, and the various small motions wings can make are all incredibly important in the Vosnian Seeker’s language. With Metalhawk’s oddity came a disadvantage in communication. He had to rely on words and facial expressions. However, it also came with an advantage. Because he had to rely on words, he could lie more easily and hide meanings that could be problematic for his ends. It was the reason Starscream had asked him to come along to be the lead of the guard trine for the Seeker representatives of Vos. His brothers, of course, were a no-processor. They were trusted and intelligent. 

He had had nothing to do with the choice of representatives. Pharma and Sunstorm were prominent members of Vos, Pharma as a civilized Seeker, a medic and surgeon. Sunstorm was a priest of Primus and had a great deal of power among the faithful. Personally, Starscream had nothing against Primus, but he believed him too limited to call a god. What kind of all-powerful deity can be stolen from?

Starscream chuckled softly, drawing Sunstorm’s attention. “What is it, Starscream?”

“You, Sunstorm. Something you said.” Starscream smiled to himself. Sunstorm racked his processor for what he could have said that would cause Starscream such amusement.

Starscream picked up a delicate hand-mirror. Another present from Shockwave and Megatron. Flipping it, he observed Sunstorm growing more frustrated with each moment that passed. Finally, he took pity on his handmech and spoke. “You were speaking of tradition earlier. It just occurred to me that our near-slavery is, by now, a tradition.”

Sunstorm straightened his wings indignantly. “I meant no such thing and you know it!”

Starscream nodded. “I know, Sunstorm, don’t get your wings bent out of shape.”

Sunstorm huffed and Pharma stepped close to Starscream. The two older Seekers were much more familiar with each other than Sunstorm had realized yet. They were aeriemates and had been nearly raised together. Pharma was older, but not by much. The chevroned flyer cooed to Starscream, fluttering his wings at the other Seeker.

Starscream chittered back, turning to nuzzle against the other. After his return to Vos, Pharma had remained in touch, spending most of his time in Iacon, and even helped Starscream get back on his pedes. Even if he was no longer a scientist by legality, he could still do work befitting his education and Pharma had helped him to find it as a basic chemist.

He owed much to his aeriemate and much was given in return. They had a bond of care with each other, watching over their separate families and their conjoined one with the kind of jealousy only a fellow Seeker could understand.

Now that a grounder was about to be added to that number, they were all still reeling. Grounder and Seeker pairings weren’t too uncommon, but they were often with the speedsters of Praxus or with two-wheelers. Light, agile frames, in other words. Frames who could handle the platforms and open spaces that characterized the soaring city of Vos. Of course, recently more and more had been built to accommodate their overlords, those mechs who kept Vos in line, but they were mainly supported by the shuttles, who needed no such coddling. Hulking brutes. Skyfire had been the best of them. 

Starscream turned from the window, not in the mood to muse any longer. “Where is that transport?”

Skywarp walked in, bowed, and gestured to the door. “My lords, your chariot awaits.”

Starscream made sure to smack him on the back of the helm as he went out.


	10. Chapter 10

One of the perks of the primacy that Optimus could get used to was the meetings with famous or interesting mecha. Scientists, actors, researchers, and senators were all accessible from his new position and, in many cases, clamoring to get close to him, either for favors, to test his opinions, or simply to see the new Prime.

Mostly to ask for favors, though.

With Sunstreaker, the famous Praxian artist, Rung, an acclaimed psychologist, and even Ultra Magnus, a strict disciplinarian and enforcer of law and order, in attendance, Optimus was surrounded by enough starpower to make Orion Pax’s Commoner’s processor swim. Fortunately, Optimus Prime had a secret weapon. The Matrix would send soothing and guiding pulses through his spark, allowing him to resist his surroundings’ charisma.

It was pulsing near constantly, though.

Megatron of Kaon approached, accompanied by a silent mech in a mask and visor. Soundwave, Optimus tentatively identified. Megatron himself, with his grey paintjob and imposing figure, seemed to take up most of the room. Optimus was glad for the mask over his face as he regarded the gladiator with something akin to awe. He was a very handsome mech, with rugged features and sharp, intelligent eyes. As he came close, he offered his servo to shake. “Optimus Prime, greetings. It is an honor.”

“It is an honor to meet you in person, Megatron.” Optimus responded. “I have read your publications and I would enjoy discussing it with you.”

“I would like to hear your thoughts on them.” Megatron looked about. “Iacon is a very large city. I have been here for three cycles and I have barely seen the surface.”

“Will you be staying for some time?” Optimus questioned, taking a decorative flute of high grade off of an offered tray.

“Starscream requires a patrias for his part of your nuptial rituals. I have offered to stand in that place for him.”

“I see. Is there any difference from the normal duties of the patrias?”

“On the contrary, normal duties for the patrias include a much larger scope in Vos than in Iacon. For example, Starscream has been living in a an apartment with his aeriemate Pharma as well as the rest of the delegation up until this point. However, as his Patrias, I am to take him into my “house” until your wedding night as a sort of guardian. I will also be hosting several courtship events between the two of you and coaching both of you through the motions, if you will allow, of course. You may wish to discuss exactly how Vosnian the bonding is to be. Starscream is prepared for both eventualities and, though he may show some derision, culture is very important to him.” Megatron explained, one hand going to his heavy, decorative gauntlets and fiddling with them.

“I see.” Optimus sipped his high grade. “Thank you, Megatron. I will discuss that with Starscream. Is there anything I should know right now?”

“There is nothing I can think of for tonight specifically, but I imagine Starscream is mature enough to point out any of your foibles to you directly.” Megatron stated. “On another note, do you know why he is insisting on speaking only Vosnian?”

“Not entirely. I believe he is using it as a smokescreen so we may speak in relative privacy even in public.” Optimus admitted. “It has been a relief, to be honest.”

“I see. Have a nice evening, Optimus Prime, I will see you at the banquet.” Megatron nodded to the Prime and continued to speak to Senator Shockwave.

Megatron’s greeting came at the perfect time because there was a stir through the hall and Starscream and his Seekers entered the room. Optimus smiled behind his mask and went to meet them. 

The tricolor Seeker was radiant in his traditional costume, though he gingerly tugged on the collar and murmured to Optimus. “Pharma insisted on the whole costume, but I feel like I’m choking.” Indeed, draped so heavily in silk and Aura, it was a miracle he could walk at all, in Prime’s estimation. It was a rather unique-looing gown, not so concealing as most of the coverings and robes about the hall. Optimus noted that the sashes did not restrict Starscream’s wings and that the whole garment seemed to be made to take off easily, with the exception of the jewelry. Anything that restricted flight capabilities was easily tearable or very loosely tied.

“You look amazing.” Optimus responded, taking Starscream’s arm and guiding him further in. Thundercracker trailed after them while Skywarp stuck close to Pharma and Metalhawk was at Sunstorm’s wing. “So exotic and charming: Like a doll.”

“Is that trying to be a compliment?” Starscream arched a brow, though Optimus felt his wing flutter against his cloak. The Prime was wearing his most simple headdress, though Bumblebee and Cliffjumper had assured him that the situation called for a much more ornate one.

“Do you take offence at being named perfection?” Optimus playfully responded.

Starscream chuckled softly and a slight screech entered his voice. He reset his vocalizer several times, embarrassed. “I apologize. That little glitch has been growing more pronounced overtime.”

“Is something wrong with your vocalizer, Starscream?” Optimus asked, concerned for his future mate. That had sounded bad. 

“It’s nothing, just a glitch. Pharma says there’s nothing he can do and, well, he’s one of the best on Cybertron. It goes away when I sing and I can control it when I’m paying attention.” Starscream touched his neckcables over the organ. “I suppose we should take what time we have to discuss the bonding and the rituals preceding it.”

Optimus wished they were alone so that he could pursue the topic, but allowed it to change naturally. “We should. I was speaking to Megatron and he told me that there is a great deal of difference between Vosnian and Iaconian bonding traditions.”

“Well, naturally. Don’t worry, though, I’ll discuss anything with you beforehand and we’ll see what is possible and what isn’t.” Starscream assured. “Another reason I insisted our trine of bodyguards come along. There are six capable servos at the ready to carry out any skilled labor your Iaconian servants cannot handle.” They were slowly drifting towards the balcony.

“Of course, you and your handmecha would never dream of getting your servos dirty.” Optimus teased gently.

“On the contrary, my dear Prime,” Starscream replied with a jaunty smile, pushing the door open and letting in the cooling evening air. “My handmecha and I are going to be working very hard indeed. We need to host you and your party for a dinner, prepare and present a Kabuki play, serenade you, and various other activities to show off our affluence and attributes so that we can prove that this match is ideal.” Starscream explained. “In all, our bonding is going to be very tiring for all of us.”

“I can only hope we will be allowed time to rest and rejuvenate with each other before we have to return to political life.” Optimus made a face beneath his mask. “If I have to hear one more mech double-talking around to some favor he wants, I’m going to scream.”

“I understand.” Starscream brushed close to him as they approached the edge of the balcony and Optimus leaned on the rail, looking out over Iacon. “They can be so greasy…” He laid his helm on Optimus’s shoulder, holding his arm gently.

“Can’t they? I’m almost jealous of them, being able to talk with such deceit so easily, with such poise. It makes my simple processor spin sometimes, just trying to cut through their words and down to the message.” Optimus turned to him. “They make your direct approach refreshing…”

“I’m not so honest with everyone as I am with you.” Starscream admitted. “It wouldn’t be safe for me to be.”

“I… I understand that. I suppose it bothers me most when the delegates from the other cities, the ones that were called to be my mate, when they use double-speak.”

“If they can’t be honest in courtship, how can you trust them to be honest in bonding?” Starscream purred into his audial. “That’s why I am honest with you. I know you appreciate it.”

Optimus put an arm gently around the Seeker and pulled him close. The elegant wings bent and shuffled, making themselves fit against the convoy’s side. They turned to face each other, smiling softly, and Optimus opened his facemask, revealing his plush lips. Starscream ran his glossa over his own, painted lipplates. The red made the usually thin, innocent lips plush and decadent. 

Slowly, they began moving their faceplates close together, almost meeting between them when suddenly, the door to the balcony snapped open and Prowl was there. “Prime? You need to come and enter the banquet hall first with delegate Starscream.”

Optimus shuttered his optics in resignation and the mask slid back into place over his features. Starscream drew back in disappointment. “Coming, Prowl.” Optimus gave Starscream his arm and led him in, past the Praxian. Prowl and Starscream shot each other antagonistic looks and Optimus led Starscream at the head of a parade of nobles, into the hall. He noticed that a minor noble from Tarn, a rare tank noble, was escorting Pharma in and that Sunstorm was resting on a priest’s arm. Their names escaped him for the moment. 

“That noble was paying Pharma special attention on the night of the Consort selection as well.” Starscream murmured. “He might be a potential ally.”

“Either that, or he simply likes your aeriemate.” Optimus murmured back. 

“True. Either way, it is advantageous for us, is it not?” Starscream smiled softly, eyes bright and taking in every detail like a sniper.

“Very true.” Optimus responded and guided Starscream to his place at the long table, draped in a rich cloth. As the Prime sat down, he noticed that Starscream’s expression had changed to a careful neutral as he ran his digits along the hem of the brocade. Leaning closer, he murmured. “Is something wrong?”

“Forgive me, Optimus.” Jerking his optics away, Starscream replied. “Sometimes… sometimes the wealth of this place still takes me off guard, even when I think I’m braced for it.”

Optimus set a servo over Starscream’s own and turned to nod at the palace butler, a fussy little ‘bot known as Manners, and the first course was carried in.


	11. Chapter 11

Prowl scowled after the Seeker and the Prime as they entered the banquet hall. A servo laid itself on his arm suddenly. “What are you brooding on now, mate of mine?” Jazz murmured to his bondmate.

“I think our new Prime is making a terrible mistake, bringing those creatures into the palace, betrothing himself to one of them.” Prowl contemptuously glared at the three bodyguards the Seekers had insisted on bringing in spite of his own offer of very well trained mechs. Did they honestly think they were in danger? Well, given the fact that they were highly unpopular and Prime’s choice was incredibly controversial, they might very well be, but his guards were more than up to the task.

“I think that Starscream is a very stylish mech. Did you see his sash? I want one.” Jazz replied evenly, leaning gently on Prowl. “Come on, Prowler, lighten up. They’re Seekers, not monsters or drones. They have feelings just like us and they’re people, just like us.”

“We have differing opinions on this matter, Jazz.” Prowl sniffed, but turned to his mate. “How are you?”

“We’re doing fine.” Jazz placed a hand on his abdomen where their sparkling was growing in the grounder’s gestation tank. He smirked cheekily. “At least we know that Optimus Prime is more likely to leave behind heirs, unlike Sentinel.”

Prowl shook his helm. “If the matrix was destined for Optimus Prime, then I doubt it would have chosen one of Sentinel Prime’s heirs, even if he had one.” He reminded his visored mate with a gentle caress on his shoulder. 

Jazz smiled, leaning his helm against his mate’s shoulder kibble. “That’s right, and it must have some idea of what it’s doing. Now come on, let’s go join the fun. They’ve almost all gone in.” The two mechs joined the parade at the last moment, carrying the rear behind Skywarp and Thundercracker, who were escorting each other into the hall.

 

Skywarp and Thundercracker had been going back and forth between them all evening along the spark bond they shared. “Ugh! This is so boooooorrrrriing….” Skywarp whined at Thundercracker.

“Keep forging, brave soldier.” Thundercracker dryly replied. “We will rest when the war is done.” When Optimus and Starscream went out onto the balcony, he stood with his back to the glass door to give them some privacy. 

“I hate this… All Pharma is doing is talking to this really boring guy about music.” Skywarp groaned. “He’s offering to play him one of his compositions. Something called the Imperial Suite?”

Thundercracker rolled his optics. That was just like Skywarp. “The Empyrean Suite?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Skywarp, that’s Roller of Tarn. He’s an ally and a very talented musician, one of Shockwave’s Outliers. He’s received awards from The Iaconian Conservatory in spite of being a war frame and he played for Sentinel Prime’s last Jubilee.” Thundercracker berated his bondmate. “You should be honored that he has appeared tonight and, if what I’m hearing is true, he’ll be playing some new compositions tonight after the banquet.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… I prefer electrobubblepop and you know it, TC.” Skywarp waved it off. “So, everything you’re saying is going over my helm.”

“You’re insufferable.” Thundercracker so badly wanted to face-palm at that moment. 

“And I’m awesome while doing it.” Skywarp responded. “What’s insufferable?”

Thundercracker allowed himself a tiny, audible groan.

Skywarp continued. “Anyway, that’s not my point. This Roller guy has recognized me as your bondmate-Did you drag me to one of his concerts or something?-and he’s asking me a bunch of questions about you. Why don’t you come over here and answer them for me?”

Thundercracker tossed a glance out the glass door. Optimus and Starscream seemed fairly cozy. He could take a few minutes to speak to Roller before returning to his post. Starscream could take care of himself. Stepping away from the door, he crossed the floor to where Roller, Skywarp, and Pharma were standing together. As he approached, he took note of Pharma’s body language. Unlike the rest of them, Pharma was in a subset of Seekers whose wings were pointed towards the ground instead of upwards. It was a genetic feature that gave him a particularly sleek, curvy look, which was emphasized by the curve of his wings and the rare chevron on his forehelm. Pharma and Sunstorm wore the traditional line of magnetic hematite beads from their nasal vents to their audials. In Pharma’s case, it shaded one of his optics and gave him a mysterious look.

Thundercracker couldn’t really blame Roller for being attracted to the Seeker in that case and Roller’s impressive credentials made him a worthy choice for Pharma in return. Taking in the fluttering and cant of Pharma’s wings, Thundercracker nodded to himself. Either this was going to result in a courtship or a grave disappointment for the Seeker.

Personally, Thundercracker didn’t see the allure that grounders had for some Seekers, especially not the hulking tanks or convoys such as Roller, Megatron, and Optimus Prime. Racers were all right, he supposed, but Praxians in general were so smug and unpleasant. Their attitudes ruined their looks. Still, Starscream seemed happy enough with Optimus Prime’s looks and Pharma was certainly responding favorably to Roller’s. Casting his optics wide, Thundercracker noticed that Sunstorm was speaking to a delegation from the temple of Primus. He should have known.

Roller smiled as Thundercracker approached. “Thundercracker. When I saw Skywarp here, I knew you must be close. I enjoyed our discussion of harmonic waves the last time we met and I wanted to tell you that you were right about my glockenspiel.” 

Thundercracker smiled. As Skywarp had surmised, he had indeed dragged his bondmate to one of Roller’s concerts and then forced him to wait while they had a long conversation about the relationship between harmony and melody. The glockenspiel in particular, Thundercracker had put forth, might be improved with a slight change in tuning. “Thank you, Roller. I was glad to help.”

“I would like to hear more of your ideas if any occur to you. Perhaps you could even become my tuner.” Roller offered.

Thundercracker almost melted into a happy pool right there, but, alas… “I would love to share my ideas with you, Roller, but I do not have any training as a tuner, nor would I be free to take such a responsibility on at the moment.”

“I see. The offer stands if you find yourself free in the future.” Roller responded. The tank looked up. “Ah, Optimus Prime and Starscream are making their way to the banquet hall. Pharma, may I have the honor of escorting you in?” He turned to the Seeker medic and offered his strong arm.

“Oh, please and thank you.” Pharma took the arm and his wings curved towards Roller.

Thundercracker had whirled to find Starscream shooting him a look on his way into the hall with Optimus Prime. Thundercracker’s blue and red wings drooped with guilt. He had abandoned his post. 

The Praxian mech who seemed to accompany the Prime everywhere was standing near the balcony’s doorway. Doubtless, the unpleasant mech had interrupted his leader’s moment with his intended. Thundercracker tossed the black and white Praxian a glare as he turned to Skywarp. “Shall I take you in, my mate?”

“Of course, TC. Don’t be silly. Not like I’d want to sit next to anyone else.” Skywarp took his arm sloppily and with a casual grace that seemed to define the teleporter.

Thundercracker sighed and reflected on the strange duality of luck that had given him Skywarp. 

 

Elita One sniffed and turned to Maridice, or Strika, as she was more commonly known, and spoke in Carcer’s dialect. “Uppity Seeker. Who does he think he is?”

“Optimus Prime’s intended, First.” Strika responded. “But that can and will change.”

“Of course. We will have to see to it. Strika, Obsidian, I want you to be my ears and hands. Reach out to the nobles, to the guardsmen, and to anyone else who frequents this palace. We need a plan of attack.” Elita pursed her lipplates together in thought. 

Strika and Obsidian bowed and melted into the crowd to search out those who were as discontent with the situation as Elita was.


	12. Chapter 12

Optimus finally collapsed into his berth at the end of the night with a groan. Starscream had been… intense was probably a good word for it. He swore the Seeker was trying to seduce him with every askance look, every sly smile. 

He groaned again, turning over and wrapping himself in the covering. His optics flicked to the washracks. There was temporary paint peeling and itching in every seam, but he couldn’t get together the will to push himself up and take a wash. He would do it in the morning, when he felt like a mech again.

Falling into recharge, he slept deeply for several cycles before a noise disturbed his rest. It was a kind of scratching noise on the balcony, as if a tamed turbofox or cybercat was scratching at the door. Then, the lock clicked open and there were pedsteps on the variegate floor. 

Optimus, feeling more himself, sat up in berth and peered towards the balcony window. Cybertron’s secondary moon was shining through the glass and onto the floor in patches of silver. There were no other windows except for the balcony door. Sentinel Prime had been fond of Aura and expensive hangings, artworks. He had no appreciation, it seemed, for natural light, and the fact that he had a balcony attached to his private quarters seemed astounding. From what Optimus had heard and seen of the former Prime, he didn’t seem the kind to want to spend spare moments on a balcony, watching the sun set or feeling the rain on his plating. 

And if he had wanted that, he had gardens that were perfectly encased in glass and made like indoor, contained paradises. To Optimus’s knowledge, the largest garden was capable of self-regulated “weather” created by a system of pipes and sprinklers that simulated rain. There were even speakers and flash bulbs that could create lightning and thunder at the listener’s will.

Sentinel had built the Palace into a self-contained paradise and had never left it. He had lost contact with his people and his god and all of Cybertron had suffered for it. Optimus determined never to be like his predecessor and to have windows cut into his bedroom as soon as possible. The hangings could be repurposed for drapes. He thought that Starscream might find a poetic irony or justice in that fate for the richly embroidered tapestries, doomed to fade in the sunlight and to pale into disrepair.

All of which brought him to the undeniable fact that the balcony door was ajar and there was someone in his room with him. 

Optimus rose to his pedes and picked up the “panic button” that Prowl insisted he keep at his bedside. It was a general alarm button that would summon the entire guard to his room with a press. He kept it in hand and approached the balcony door, pressing it shut. There was a breath of air against his back and he nearly pressed the panic button out of reflex.

A sky blue servo snatched the button out of his hand and tossed it back down onto the night table. “Ah, ah. We don’t want to call out your Praxian lap dog and his army of ground-pounders to interrupt this, do we?”

Optimus recognized the purring voice. “Starscream, what are you doing here, sneaking in in the middle of the night cycle? You gave me a spark-attack.” He turned into the Seeker’s arms and laced his own around the slim waist. Starscream was a little small for a Seeker, he noted, but not too small. His wings, fine and perfect for his body, gave him the impression of a larger size. In reality, though, he couldn’t be much heavier than a Praxian racer and none of the other Seekers were that much larger. 

“I had to slip in: That Praxian devil of yours keeps this whole place pretty well locked down. You didn’t leave the balcony unlocked, either. I’m not happy with you for that.” Starscream pouted. He had cleaned off the ceremonial paints and appeared in his armor, natural and fresh in a room of decadence and rot.

Optimus chuckled softly, leaning back against the wall. “And why exactly, are you sneaking into the private chambers of the Prime so late in the night cycle? Perhaps you are simply very, very earlier for our breakfast together?”

“Oh, I think you know why I’m here.” Starscream purred his engines.

“I believe I know what you want to happen.” Optimus replied, slightly evasive, and stroked Starscream’s spinal strut. “But I don’t know if I want it to happen right now.”

“I think I can persuade you.” Starscream made a sinuous movement against Optimus and brushed his crotchplate with his knee. “I have many persuasive arguments that I can present and arrange for you. If you will allow, I am quite willing to tell you all about exactly why you should want this to happen, here and now, and why we should do it.”

“I think I have a counterargument that you may find appealing.” Optimus pressed a kiss to Starscream’s nasal vent and shifted his stance, standing straight again. 

“Hmm?” Starscream stretched up and wrapped his arms around Optimus’s neck, lifting himself off the floor and lacing his legs about Optimus’s waist.

“Indeed. Why don’t I go first, since my… argument is a good deal shorter than yours.” Optimus cupped Starscream’s aft, creating a cradle of his arms. 

Starscream hummed and nodded into Optimus’s neck cables. “Go on then, give me this grand counterargument.”

“Very well. I will try to keep it within seven words: I want to wake up beside you.” Optimus hummed, dropping his helm to kiss Starscream’s lipplates several times. “Think of it. If we do this, here and now, we’ll have to go our separate ways before the morning. You will have to sneak out and fly back to your own berth. I’ll have to wait here, alone, to see you at breakfast. In all, it will be a sneaky, slippery frag in the middle of the night and it won’t satisfy either of us.”

Starscream hummed softly. “So, your argument is that we wait, prolong our frustrations, and then consummate at the appropriate time because it won’t completely satisfy us here and now.”

“Mmhmm.” Optimus leaned their forehelms together. “In the Iaconian tradition, the bonding ceremony takes a week. Most don’t opt for the traditional wedding, but I think we may have to. A merging of our cultures, of course, but all the grandeur that Iacon will demand of us. Anyway, there is a day at the middle of the week, after the ceremony, where the intendeds are left alone while the guests revel. On that day, we can celebrate and explore each other in our own time, without interruptions. What do you say, Starscream? Can we wait until then?”

Starscream was silent for a long moment. “You’ve never before showed you were a romantic, you dusty old convoy.” 

“To the spark.” Optimus admitted and nuzzled Starscream’s helm. “So?”

“So, the answer is yes, you old soft spark.” Starscream dropped his legs and pressed into Optimus in a full-frame embrace. “When you put things the way you do, who can help but agree with you? You have a way with words, Optimus. I get the feeling they will be your greatest weapon in the days ahead.”

“I hope I won’t have to use them as weapons, just as tools.” Optimus nuzzled Starscream again, stroking along his wings. “Now you need to be back in berth before someone misses you.”

“Hmph. There’s no one to miss me but Pharma and he’s a worrier, no matter what.” Starscream sighed and walked out to the balcony. “Oh, and leave this door unlocked for me, will you? It’s not a good target for assassins and I might want to return, even if we are saving ourselves.”

“Of course, anything you like. Good night, Starscream.” Optimus greeted the Seeker. “Oh, before I forget, my comm frequency is 3422.”

“I see. I shall use that, thank you, Optimus. Good night. I will see you in the morning.” Starscream took to the air and made for his aeriemate’s apartment.


	13. Chapter 13

Starscream arrived back at Shockwave’s mansion and landed in the atrium. Though he had not wanted to be too indebted to his patrons- still didn’t want to- there was no choice at this point in his courtship. The Seekers required large spaces and funds, though they would stretch each credit as far as it could go, to put on their part of Starscream’s courtship. Their only trustworthy ally in Iacon was Senator Shockwave. Senator Ratbat was out for his own ends. 

Starscream was also painfully aware of the favor he had bestowed on Lord Megatron by asking him to stand in for his Creators over the long and complicated prelude to his bonding with the Prime. In effect, he had declared that he considered the warlord a surrogate parent. To a point, he did. The warlord had helped him a great deal after Starscream joined his movement. If Optimus hadn’t chosen him for his consort, he would have been one of the picks for the next Airlord thanks to Megatron’s machinations. It wasn’t as if he could have chosen anyone else. His creators were offline and he had no other attachments other than his siblings and aeriemates. As matronly as Pharma was, he was no patrias. Not to Starscream, at least.

Slipping through the darkened rooms, he found the berthroom he and Pharma were sharing for propriety’s sake, and went in. Skywarp and Thundercracker were at it again. He could hear them through the door in spite of the sound-proofing. He wouldn’t be surprised if Skywarp had tampered with it as a sort of prank. He would make sure that it was either repaired, upgraded, or reactivated if necessary in the morning. 

Skywarp was his brother, which had been interesting in and of itself. Watching Thundercracker’s courtship had been even more interesting. Skywarp had made his advances while Starscream was still laboriously educating himself for the Science Academy. They had been neither noble, nor rich, so the courtship was much less ornate than Starscream’s already was. In fact, the whole affair might have been paid for with one of the minor jewels from Starscream’s dowry. 

Skywarp had longed for jewels when their bondding was on. Starscream remembered walking through the single sector of Vos that catered to the wealthy- mostly grounders who considered Vos an amusement- and being forced to window shop in places that they couldn’t have afforded to set pede in. It had been torturous, especially when they couldn’t afford a single object. Skywarp had settled for painted metals and dyed stone set into base steel. Starscream remembered chipping in a few credits in a community collection that barely managed to purchase a length of chintzy gossamer cloth- he would like to see that damnable merchant try to sell such a piece in Iacon- for a marriage veil.

Still, his lips curved as he remembered the dancing, the laughter, and song. It seemed that they put more effort into what was free because they had nothing else. His optics fell on the aura crest, the gems like a cybercock’s feathers, though nearly black in the dim light, that he had worn to meet his Prime. 

He thought of the glued together piece of garbage Skywarp had fastened his veil on with that beautiful morning and the singing that had followed as their whole neighborhood turned out, dancing and singing. There had been an oil cake for everyone that attended the ceremony and the extras- excluding the one Skywarp and Thundercracker shared on their first morning together- had been handed out to the sparklings of the neighborhood. Even the ancient grandcreators had joined in the fun – and Primus knew they had little to celebrate as their frames failed after a lifetime of unfiltered energon and toil – their songs had been even louder than the sparklings. The Marriage Aria had been audible from the other side of the city, especially as it spread to each Seeker who heard it and took up the melody. 

It had been common, in Vos, for songs to spread that way. It cost nothing to sing. 

He wished that his own bonding would be as beautiful, as full of laughter and love, as Skywarp’s had been. But no. It would he regimented and solemn, as if it were something to be sad over, in the Iaconian fashion. No matter how Vosnian the form and fashion, the manners would be the solemn grace that Iacon expected from its ceremonies. If he asked, he wondered, could the mechs of Iacon unbend themselves enough to learn the Marriage Aria?

No. He was a Seeker and had to play at minding his place in life.

Though Starscream found he was very fond of pillows made of polymers, he and Pharma couldn’t stand the blankets. They caught on their wings and made it difficult to move comfortably in sleep. So, they had tucked the coverings into the berth and lay on top of it. Iacon was cool, but not so cold that they would need the blankets to stay warm and, if it were, they would have roosted together, probably with Sunstorm or with Thundercracker and Skywarp, to conserve warmth. 

Pharma stirred as he laid beside the older Seeker. “How did it go?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Starscream answered, folding his wings to lie on his side, facing his aeriemate.

Pharma rolled to face him as well. “I know where you went. I’m not stupid, you know. I just hope you were careful.”

“Of course I was, and to answer your question, it didn’t.”

“Oh? Old-fashioned, then, is he?” Pharma questioned.

“No, but he wanted to have the luxury of waking beside me and taking our time with the affair.” Starscream replied with a sarcastic flutter of his wings. “Romantic fluff.”

“He will be a very good match for you, Starscream. You don’t have any romance in you at all.” Pharma replied sweetly.

“And how is Roller, exactly?” Starscream replied, sharp and irritable as usual. 

“He’s a dream.” Pharma smiled soppily, crystal blue optics going soft and dim. “He gave me his comm sig and told me to call him any time. I want to see him again soon. If you permit, of course, Consort.” He returned the barb with the title.

“Oh, Primus, don’t call me that.” Starscream ex-vented loudly and flopped onto his wings. “And I couldn’t care less who you’re fragging. It’s not my business.”

Pharma pouted. “I’m not fragging him, Starscream.”

“Not yet, you aren’t.” The Seeker replied. “But you watch-“

Pharma hit him with a pillow. “Not that it matters to a mech of such urbane tastes as yourself, but some of us intend to be sealed until the bonding night itself.”

Starscream fell silent, hugged himself, and turned over and away from Pharma. “Some of us never had the luxury.”

Pharma realized his mistake at once and crawled to Starscream’s side. “No, no, Starscream. I didn’t mean that. I just wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Pharma.” Starscream replied, a little harshly. “It was so long ago, I don’t even remember it anymore.”

“That’s a lie. It was a horrible thing for me to say and I never meant it like that. Please, Starscream, forgive me, and let’s just roost. It will be a busy morning.” Pharma stroked Starscream’s wings.

Starscream heaved another, great, put-upon ex-vent, and conceded. “Oh, very well. You’re forgiven, Pharma. Now go to recharge.”

“Thank you, Starscream.” Pharma gave the wing a final, preening caress, and laid back down beside his aeriemate.

Starscream heard his ex-vents broaden and deepen in recharge for about a cycle before he joined the other.


	14. Chapter 14

In the morning, Pharma woke Starscream early. “Wake up, Consort. We have to get you glossed for your Intended.” 

“Don’t call me that.” Starscream pushed himself up from the berth and stretched his wings. “I’m not that yet and I intend to be bonded- not consort.”

“You can be both.” Pharma picked up a spray can of glossy. “Now get up, we need to get you cleaned off, preened, and glossed before your breakfast.”

Starscream groaned and got to his pedes. Going to the closet, he looked for something light to bear on his wings. “This.” He told Pharma, touching a gold wrap made of gossamer. “This looks very nice.”

“That’s an evening wrap. It’s not meant to be a stand-alone piece.” Pharma pointed out.

“So?” Starscream questioned.

“So, nothing. Just letting you know.” Pharma led Starscream into the washracks. They spent some time preening each other, running claws into their seams and rubbing the tips of their fingers over the surfaces. In a time before cities, when Seekers had made their homes in the faces of variegate cliffs and solvent was non-existent, preening had been the Seeker method of bathing and removing metalmites and other parasites from their frames. It was still used by most of Vos, as running solvent- a luxury all of Iacon thought of as a right- was only found in the rich districts. 

Seekers who could not afford to live in the wealthiest districs had to buy bottles of solvent and take a sponge bath if they wished to use it. In general, laborers took a full solvent bath only before special events and a sponge bath once a week. Starscream had always worked at an “intellectual” position, unlike his brothers, and had taken sponge baths every day before he left for his work. If he was being truthful, he still preferred to bath as he had on the back balcony of their small flat: Two pedes in a small basin of solvent and a sponge in servo. He was told he made a picture when he did that, especially as dawn crept over Vos.

Pharma helped him wash his wings, both mechs wincing as they felt the running solvent over their frames just pouring down the drain. Solvent was 0.50 shanix to a cadro and it took two cadros to have a sponge bath in Vos. That was a shanix for every minimal washing. 

They both tilted their helms up into the stream, sighing, vents shutting in reflex. “These people. They live so well and do not know what they have.”

“I wonder how they would fare were it suddenly taken from them?” Pharma questioned with a note of bitterness. “If Windblade had to go without her communal baths, all decorated with bright paints and variegate, I wonder if she would look down so on preening.”

“Fetchers the lot.” Starscream agreed. “Haven’t we been invited to a bath party?”

“Yes. Lady Windblade is hosting a small gathering in the evening two cycles from now.” Pharma snorted. “It’s an affair of oh say… three dozen other femmes and us of course. In one of Iacon’s largest bathhouses. She has managed to rent it for an hour. Don’t ask me how on such short notice.”

“Perhaps she does well on her knees.” Starscream mused humorously.

They shared a laugh and Pharma turned off the shower. “Ugh. I shouldn’t step out of a bath feeling dirtier than when I got in.”

“I know.” Starscream picked up a perfectly massive polishing cloth and they began drying themselves and each other, careful to suppress the instinct to flick their wings dry as they would in Vos, where most mechs bathed outside and didn’t have to worry about “spots on the mirrors” as the maids put it. Personal disgust for petty rules aside, they didn’t wish to be bad guests in Shockwave’s home.

“Perhaps when you are the Prime’s Consort, we can have a proper communal bath built. One with an open roof and steaming rooms, like in Vos before Sentinel.” Pharma suggested. 

“With a solvent park for sparklings.” Starscream agreed. 

“It would be incredibly wasteful, but… I’ve always wanted to indulge in one that was meant for Seekers.” Pharma admitted to his aeriemate, picking up the spray can of glossy.

“With constructed cliffs and a rainmaking system.” Starscream agreed, shuttering his optics as Pharma sprayed. “But that will be some time in coming. I’ll be spending a great deal of time solidifying our power base at first.”

“Well, something arrived from Kaon last evening that will help us with that. Thundercracker’s special little trinket is here.” Pharma informed Starscream. 

“Indeed? That’s wonderful. Tell him to wear it for a test to escort me to breakfast.” Starscream dabbed at the black paint on his gunmetal lipplates.

“He will.” Pharma smiled.

“I imagine Skywarp wishes he had a special trinket as well, but it would be wasted on him.” Starscream mused. 

“Indeed. I said as much when he complained.”

They chuckled and Starscream stood, leaning close to the mirror to fix a few flaws in the paint Pharma had so painstakingly applied. The glitter coat made his normally dark face just a shade lighter and more luminous. It brought out his optics with a pop and that was all that mattered. Starscream had been informed by many that his optics were his best feature: The shape, the color, and the passion he could express with a sidelong glance.

He felt no guilt in exploiting them.

Though it had gotten a few laughs, Starscream’s joke was in poor taste as far as the Seeker was concerned. He considered that he ought to tell Optimus exactly how much and what kind of interfacing experience he had. The convoy would find out when they spark-merged for the first time at the very latest and Starscream would rather prepare him for the memories and circumstances than just throw him into the deep end, to turn a phrase. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his past, but…

That was a lie. He was ashamed. He had gone to his knees before petty, self-servicing mechs who weren’t fit to polish his thrusters and done more than that to keep himself in a secure position. Pharma had been lucky, with his surgeon’s servos and the skills he brought were necessary enough for Iacon to pass him over in the night.

He hissed around the bitter taste that rose in his intake and grabbed the diadem from a stand, forcing it into place over his forehelm where it glittered like a mark. Pharma draped the gossamer wrap about him and tied it over his fans. 

“You look wonderful.” Pharma complimented. 

“Land a date with your tank musician and I’ll lend you my wardrobe.” Starscream groused. “I wish I could just go about in armor. What weird place is this where glossy isn’t formal enough for a mech?”

“It’s called Iacon and it’s not as unpleasant as you might think, provided you can hide your wings.” Pharma sighed. “But it does produce some wonderful mechs, as your Prime proves, Consort.”

“Don’t call me that.” Starscream shot him a glance that was both annoyed and regal. “I am so much more than a Consort.”

Pharma couldn’t help but agree as his aeriemate swept out of the room and off to face his destiny.


	15. Chapter 15

Sunstorm pulled a cloak over his wings. They weren’t hidden, but they didn’t seem badly out of place in a crowd of covered mechs. He was going to an art gallery, an odd activity this early in the morning, but he wanted to get in and see it before there were bunches of mechs inside.

He loved paintings and sculpture as much as texts on Primus and his commands. This gallery in particular was known to hold some venerable and holy works by various artists. Sunstorm was taking this moment to see them under the pretense of scoping out venues for meetings and celebration between Starscream- his new trineleader though they were not a bonded triptet- and the Prime. Primus’s avatar, living on Cybertron. He had nearly wasted himself in excitement when Optimus had taken him in arms. 

Of course, he had known he wouldn’t be chosen. The Seeker wasn’t that much of a twerp that he believed he could compare to Starscream- the tricolor Jewel of Vos (Before, it had been a title only those who had seen him fly used. Now it was being published everywhere in an attempt to drum up support for the Prime and his Intended.) would always be faster, stronger, more intelligent, and generally more desirable than Sunstorm- but wouldn’t it have been amazing if the Matrix had seen him and said, “Yes, this is the one. He is a true believer, one of the finest of my own faithful. A worthy candidate for the Consort of my Avatar.” ? Wouldn’t that have been just amazing?

Though Sunstorm had to admit, he didn’t see the appeal in Optimus himself. The Prime was a plain, calm mech with a straightforwards outlook on life, no particular devotion to Primus, and a convoy mech to top it off.

Starscream had encouraged his Seekers to get to know members of Iacon’s elite, for friendships and allies, but Sunstorm didn’t generally enjoy grounders the way Starscream and Pharma seemed to. Praxians were all right, he supposed, and their racers were sleek and slick, but Primus made separate frame types for a reason and Sunstorm wanted a fellow Seeker or a flyer at the least. Most grounders were dirty, with chipped and scored paint from driving. Wealthy ones were okay because they could afford regular touch-ups, but Sunstorm wanted someone whose frame and paint were as pristine as Primus’s own- Oh!

Sunstorm found himself in a room of beautiful, reverent works. It was subtle, he realized, but there was worship in these paintings, faith in the brushstrokes. They nearly forced him to his knees in wonder as he gazed up at the glistening paint on a flat of fine steel.

It was a simple painting, the temple in Iacon, but it was so beautiful. The city was in the middle of a storm, rain pouring down, cleansing, but there was a beam of light on the round, stained glass window in the center, as if Primus was holding the clouds back to allow the sun to shine on that one, particular spot. Sunstorm’s lipplates formed a surprised “o” as he came forwards and stared outright.

“It’s called ‘Ray.’” A voice with a Praxian accent spoke from somewhere behind Sunstorm. “I wasn’t going to display that one. I didn’t think it was very good.”

“It’s marvelous.” Without turning to look, Sunstorm murmured. “I’ve never seen anything so… so in touch with Primus. It’s as if he was guiding your servo. I assume you are the artist?”

“Indeed.” The voice continued. “I’m glad you appreciate it, though this section of the gallery isn’t technically open yet. I’m just setting up, making sure my collection is in line and preparing for the opening night. Still, if you like it that much, I suppose I could give you a look around.”

Sunstorm finally turned and found himself facing Sunstreaker, the Praxian artist. “I would love that. Thank you, so much.”

“You’re welcome. Sunstorm, I take it? We were introduced at the last Primal gathering.” Sunstreaker extended his servo to shake and Sunstorm accepted it.

“Yes, Sunstreaker, correct? I admit, I would not have expected such devotion from you.” Sunstorm clasped the servo in the Vosnian fashion and released it a moment later. “It is heartening to find another believer.”

“Well, I don’t shout about it, but I do believe. We had to come from somewhere, after all.” Sunstreaker explained as he led off into the exhibition. “I like to show my love for Primus in my art. It doesn’t seem fitting to just bandy it about and drag it through the streets. If I live by example, then I hope to show more than tell about the faith.”

“I see.” Sunstorm looked up at the next painting. He began to note that, while they were seasoned with religious symbols and an occasional figure from their holy books, most of the worship was in the manner of the paintings, in how they caressed and paid attention to the figures of the mechs and objects they portrayed. Sunstreaker used light colors, contrasted them with darker ones, and made the mechs in his paintings look beloved. 

Sunstorm’s processor spun with the beauty. “Magnificent… Your work… It makes me feel Primus’s love in the room with us!”

Sunstreaker attempted to look modest. “I try. I simply believe that all children of Primus deserve to be portrayed as just that. Thus why I have convoy mechs and working class citizens as well as priests and Primes. I find the contrast charming.”

Sunstorm paused in front of a long painting of a school room. Each child had a different posture and face. No two were alike, not even the pair of twins near the middle. “Amazing. I love this one. The sparklings seem so real, so distinct!”

“I had to sit in the corner of their classroom for a long time before they became used to me enough that they ignored me.” Sunstreaker admitted. “There was one that wouldn’t stop looking over his shoulder. I had to surprise him with a still shot to get him into a natural position.” He pointed. “This little two-wheeler here.”

Sunstorm’s wings fluttered pleasantly. “I see. He seems so charmingly intelligent.”

“He was very smart and a good sketcher. He sketched me while I painted them.” Sunstreaker regaled Sunstorm with tales of each child.

“You are not nearly as self-centered as you seem, Sunstreaker.” Sunstorm smiled at the Praxian. “You have such a good processor for other mechs.”

“Thank you, Sunstorm.” Sunstreaker smiled back. “I’m glad you stopped in. It’s so nice to talk with someone who can truly appreciate my work.”

“I can’t believe I am the only one. Now tell me more about this statue of Sentinel? You seem to have implied disfavor without making him seem evil and it is quite beyond me how.” Sunstorm moved to one of Sunstreaker’s few solid-form pieces.

“Oh, that was simple. You see, I removed his vanguard shoulderplates, which make him seem a great deal more impressive…” And so the morning was spent. Both sunny mechs talked about art and technique and Sunstorm listened to Sunstreaker’s stories- he had one for each painting- and Sunstreaker laughed at Sunstorm’s joyful attitude towards the beautiful works.

At last, Sunstorm asked a question that brought the mood back to the ground. They had wound their way through the new exhibit and the golden Seeker had seen many frametypes- shuttles, racers, warrior builds, even a tank- but there were no Seekers. “Sunstreaker, why did you not paint any Seekers? Did you never have a model that caught your optics?”

Sunstreaker became still and was very quiet for a long moment. “I… I never thought of that. I met your associate Pharma a bit ago and thought I might paint him, but I never asked. I don’t think a Seeker portrait would go in this group anyway. I suppose I might have, but he seemed so… busy and fluttery. I didn’t think he would sit still long enough…” He trailed off, realizing that Sunstorm’s wings were drooping low towards the floor. “Sunstorm?”

Sunstorm shook his helm. Of course, a Seeker would never belong in a gallery of those beloved of Primus. “It is nothing, Sunstreaker. This has been a lovely tour, but I must return to Senator Shockwave’s mansion. I have been too long as it is.”

“Sunstorm, why don’t we meet up again sometime? I could paint your portrait if you like? I think you’d be wonderful against the sunrise, some pink to contrast…” Sunstreaker trailed off again.

“No, thank you, Sunstreaker. I don’t think I could find the time. We’re busy. This was just supposed to be a moment to admire the artworks, but I got lost in your paintings.” He made a helpless gesture towards the works. “They are… very nice. I hope they sell well and that you find meaning in them.”

Sunstreaker frowned as Sunstorm headed for the entrance to his exhibit, optics wandering morosely over the paintings. “Sunstorm?” He waited until the Seeker had stopped. “Was it something I said?”

Sunstorm waved the question off. “No, no… It’s nothing you said. Farewell, Sunstreaker.” And with that, he rounded a corner and was gone.

Sunstreaker frowned after him. Strange little Seeker. He hoped he saw him again. He really would like to paint Sunstorm against a pink Iaconian sunrise.


	16. Chapter 16

Starscream arrived at the Primal Palace under his own steam with Thundercracker flying behind. The morning light caressed his wings and the gossamer scarf over them. The two Seekers landed in the atrium and Manners appeared next to them, rubbing his servos and bowing stiffly. “Optimus Prime is in the practice yard, Intended. I will escort you there if you wish.”

“I would like to see Optimus at his practice.” Starscream agreed affably. “Tell him to lead the way, Thundercracker.”

Thundercracker nodded and translated from the Vosnian for Manners.

Manners bowed again and Thundercracker activated his “trinket” as Starscream referred to it.

Optimus looked up when he saw Starscream enter the practice yard and was instantly clipped a good one on the back of his neck. Wheeling on Ironhide, he blocked the next three blows. “Ironhide!”

“Keep ya’ processor on the fight, Optimus. Ya Seeker can sit back and enjoy the show, but ya’ are still fighting it out until ya’ put me on the ground or ah deck you.” Ironhide warned.

Optimus sighed and rolled his optics. The last thing he wanted to do was look like a fool in front of the Seeker and Ironhide was a very, very good opponent. He took a more defensive stance, trying to watch Ironhide carefully and not let him in past his guard.

But this tactic left him prone to overwatchfulness. He still had so much to learn and fell victim to a simple leg feint combined with a hammering blow to his audial.

While his processor rang and he lay on the variegate courtyard, he was dimly aware of something tricolor leaping over him and towards Ironhide. “KYAAAAAAAHHH!”

Ironhide found himself with more than he had bargained for on his servos as Starscream planted himself between Optimus and the bodyguard. He pressed his servo outwards in a chassis strike that took Ironhide by surprise and sent him stumbling back. Clearly, no amateur.

Ironhide blinked as Starscream took up a defensive pose, an almost comically serious expression on the Seeker’s faceplates. No, there was no way he had mistaken his and Optimus’s sparring for an actual fight, was there? “Now, see here, Seeker. Ya gotta back-“ He jerked to the side as a pede came out of nowhere, aimed for his helm.

“Kurea!” Starscream shrieked as he executed several blows towards the large mech’s helm and neckcables.

Optimus shook the bugs out of his processor and sat up, groaning. He was met with an astounding sight. Starscream had Ironhide on the ropes. Perhaps it was mostly the surprise of finding himself facing the Seeker instead of ending the fight as normal, but Ironhide was in serious trouble.

And Optimus found himself too amused to do anything about it.

Starscream’s fighting style was speedy and evasive. He flipped to avoid kicks, struck to take the fire from fisted servos and, with a daring move, stood behind Ironhide and back-kicked him in the aft, nearly sending the red mech toppling to the ground.

Ironhide was solid and defensive- an excellent bodyguard- but he was unprepared for the Seeker’s martial arts mastery. 

A crowd was collecting at the edges of the courtyard, watching the Seeker dancing with the red mech. Optics were wide and shocked as Starscream spun and Ironhide was forced to leap back to avoid the razor wings that were suddenly coming at him. Finally, finally, they had reached the edge of the courtyard and Ironhide found himself against a wall. Starscream gave a final cry in Vosnian and his open servo smacked into the wall barely a digit’s breadth away from Ironhide’s helm. There was no doubt that if the servo had been closed and the aim true, Ironhide would have been crushed against the variegate.

Starscream smiled suddenly, and backed off, wings perking and flicking with lazy pride and enjoyment. He turned to Optimus and spoke in Vosnian, as usual. “Tell your bodyguard that I compliment his skill. There are not many who can dance with a Vosnian and hold for so long. However, he has much to learn and there is much a Seeker could teach him. I will tell my bodyguards and they will welcome the chance to spar with a warrior such as this.”

Optimus stood up and nodded. “I will.” He responded to Starscream. “You were amazing, by the way. I didn’t know you could fight like that.”

“Few do, most who do are dead.” Starscream preened, the smile becoming a smirk. 

Optimus nodded and gently flicked the underside of Starscream’s chin before turning to Ironhide. “Starscream says that you fought well and that he wants his bodyguards to spar with you for training. He thinks you could teach each other much.”

“Flatterin’ comin’ from the mech who pasted me.” Ironhide grinned, almost ferocious. “Mech, ya fight like nothing Ah’ve ever seen.”

Optimus turned to Starscream. “That goes for me as well.” He told the Seeker in Vosnian, pretending to act as a translator.

“Indeed. Tell him I am glad he was impressed.” Starscream reached up and fixed his diadem back into place. The golden gossamer shroud was discarded on the bench the Seeker had watched from. “But I have been without my breakfast for too long and I think we should have our morning meal before we play anymore.”

Optimus nodded, agreeing. “Starscream says that he’s glad you were impressed, but that we should have our morning meal now. Thank you for sparring, Ironhide.”

Ironhide nodded, bowing. “Ya’ are welcome.”

Starscream nodded back and Prime and Intended left the courtyard. Starscream took his covering back up and wrapped it over his wings once more. “That was a great deal more fun than I expected.”

“I was shocked when you leapt into the fight like that. You were amazing.” Optimus repeated.

“Thank you. I have been trained in three of the seven forms of martial arts that originate in Vos. The other four are taught to those who choose to pursue a military career or a law enforcement one. I had the processor to work with datapads and customers, and so learned only the civilian three, but I am proficient in them and even more formidable with weaponry such as a sword or a dagger.” Starscream explained.

“I would like to see you do more. Perhaps you would train me in one of those three forms.” Optimus smiled down at his Intended.

“It isn’t normally done so, but I can’t help but think it’s a suitable situation for an exception to be made. After all, you are Prime and I to be your bonded.” Starscream agreed. “Aside from which, I can’t imagine that any other teacher would accept you as their student. It is generally agreed in Vos that there is a certain level of mastery that one must be a Seeker to attain. Such is the nature of being an exclusive-frame city with so little to take pride in. We come to pride ourselves on things that will not matter in the end.”

“So you do think I could master the three martial arts to their fullest?”

“No. I did not say that. I believe you could master the forms, the ways of the art. I believe you could be quite formidable against the proper opponents. But Seekers are fast and agile, more so than convoys. You would have to have an equally fast and agile frame to hope to use Vosnian martial arts to their fullest.” Starscream smiled. “But a diverse foundation for one’s own style is not a bad thing to have. I, myself, am not merely trained in Vosnian martial arts, but in Kaon’s as well. Yes, their famed Krav Maga is another arrow in my quiver, as is the Judo the Praxians have mastered. Am I a master of these forms? No. However, I can use their movements in combination with those I have mastered to defeat opponents.”

Optimus nodded and was struck by a question that probably should have occurred to him first. “Starscream, why would you feel the need to arm yourself so?”

Starscream was quiet for a long moment. “This is not a subject I wish to speak about now. Though, I promise, I will tell you before our bonding ceremonies. You have a right to know, but it’s a difficult subject for me and will be harder for you.”

Optimus nodded. “Very well then. We need to talk about the ceremonies associated with our bonding and how much of each of our cultures will go into them. Manners has informed me that there are certain rituals, certain appearances, that we must make together to satisfy Iacon.”

“Ah, and there are also rituals that we must complete to satisfy Vos.” Starscream sniffed. “Would that we could do away with it all and simply be of ourselves.”

“Indeed. It would certainly be simpler.” Optimus took Starscream’s servo and kissed it, holding open the door to the solarium, where their meal waited.


	17. Chapter 17

Breakfast was oil cakes with hot energon and crystal energon chips in a small bowl beside their elbows. Starscream picked at his, not feeling particularly hungry after the feasting of the past few cycles.

“You as well?” Optimus smiled, not touching his oil cakes. “It seems as if all Iacon does is eat sometimes.”

“Indeed.” Starscream agreed. “We should get out of the city and have a nice, long drive together to work it off.”

“Can we? Is it allowed?” Optimus questioned.

“We’d be escorted, of course, but it should be allowed. For Vos, it is necessary for courting mechs to fly together at least once. It is a kind of test of strength. They should be able to keep up with each other and their flying skill should be somewhat similar.” Starscream explained.

“I see. So, what happens if I can’t keep up with you, my pretty Seeker?”

“Then I would have to decline your attempts to court me, fair Prime, unless you could defeat me in fair, single combat.” Starscream teased.

“Ah. Then I will have to keep up with you, because there’s no way I could defeat you.” Optimus smiled at the Seeker.

Starscream stirred the teacup full of scalding hot energon one final time and pushed it away. “There are so many differences between Vosnian and Iaconian rituals. I have never been one to wholly cleave to my traditions, but I find I miss them when I’m surrounded so entirely by yours.”

“Well, we’ll have to see what we can do. It can’t be that hard to incorporate. There’s a lot of time yet in this courtship.” Optimus agreed. “Why don’t you tell me some of what your people do and I’ll go over what mine do? We’ll combine what we can and find ways to have what we can’t in some small way, such as a private party or some such.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Optimus. I wouldn’t mind being surrounded only by those we can trust anyway. Especially for the preening right before our bonding ceremony.” Starscream agreed.

“Preening?” Optimus questioned. “What’s that?”

“It’s a method of cleaning that Seekers often do to encourage bonding. It used to be the primary method of frame upkeep for Seekers. For most of the working class, it still is.” Starscream explained. “You are aware that Seekers have claws, of course.”

“Claws? No, I wasn’t aware.” Optimus responded. “May I see them?”

“Of course.” Starscream lifted one servo and held it out towards the Prime and a long, wicked-looking claw protruded from slits on the tips of each digit. “As you can see, they-“ He cut himself off with a static pop and a harsh squawk as an over-enthusiastic guardsman - a young one, Optimus thought his name was Rodimus, - tackled Starscream and “wrestled” the unresisting and surprised Seeker to the ground, shouting for back-up. “Hostile Seeker attacking the Prime! I need reinforcements to the Solarium!”

Optimus stood up in surprise as the table toppled, spilling energon and expensive cloth onto the ground. “Rodimus! Stop!”

Rodimus had – seemingly unwittingly – put Starscream into a perfect winghold and was kneeling on top of the Seeker between his wings. “Stand back, Prime, I have this under control!”

“Rodimus!” Optimus snapped. “Release my Intended at once and step back!”

Rodimus’s helm snapped around. “But- Prime, he drew his claws?” He questioned, voice becoming very small.

“He was showing them to me. Get off of him now.” Optimus gently pulled Rodimus off and helped Starscream to his pedes. “Sorry about that.” He murmured to the Seeker.

“It’s all right. What more should I expect from a Praxian guard?” Starscream replied, looking at his stained and probably ruined wrap. Rodimus had left notable marks where his highly polished knees had left greasy-looking stains. Optimus put a servo to his mask.

“Rodimus, apologize.” He commanded the red and gold guard.

“What? But he drew his claws! It was aggression- that’s what Prowl says…” He trailed off looking up at Optimus and taking note of how the Prime’s optics glared down at him. “Sorry…”

Optimus turned to Starscream- supposedly to translate, “I apologize as well and I will be having words with Prowl concerning this.” 

“It’s all right, Optimus. What can you expect from Praxians? They hate us.” He glared at Rodimus. “The feeling is mutual.”

Optimus turned back to Rodimus. “Your apology is accepted and you are dismissed.” 

Rodimus drew himself to attention and saluted before slinking off.

Optimus returned to Starscream. “You really shouldn’t paint them all with the same brush. People will surprise you, if you let them.”

Starscream drew his wings in close and his field as well. “I held out a servo, flat, and allowed my claws to unsheathe. If you asked one of your guardsmen to show you his weapon, would others attack him?”

“I’m not saying it’s fair. It isn’t. But someone has to take the first step and if they’re not mature enough to recognize you and yours for the wonderful mechs you are, then you have to be mature enough to recognize them. It will help our cause, Starscream.”

The Seekers wings fluttered and he pulled off the ruined wrap gently covering them. “I- I will try, Optimus. For you, for the sake of the future we dream of, if no one else.”

“That’s all I can ask, Starscream.” Optimus took his servo. “Let’s go to one of the sitting rooms and continue this talk. We still have thirty minutes until my first set of duties.”

“Agreed.” Starscream followed the convoy.

“I apologize for your wrap. Shall I have a cloak brought?” Optimus teased.

“No. One thing I should thank your guard for. I have an excuse not to wear anything so ridiculous over my armor.” Starscream huffed, wings flicking in irritation.

“See? There is Aurum in slag.” Optimus fondly told the Seeker. “Though I am with you. Coverings are restrictive and silly.”

“Then why wear them?”

“Political reasons.” Optimus sighed. “I imagine they will dictate much of our lives together. I’m just glad that I get to know you and that there will be times when we can be ourselves.”

“I will have to work against my own nature to make this work.” Starscream’s wings drooped slightly, faceplates falling and Optimus’s spark gave a jolt as he realized that this was the complete truth of the Seeker at that moment. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to live, surrounded by petty rules and silly traditions.”

Optimus stopped. The hall they were in was empty, fortunately, and pulled the Seeker close. “You don’t have to do this. I would never force you. Not for anyone, not for anything.”

“You say that.” Starscream sighed and rested his helm on the Prime’s windshield. “But if I don’t, then someone else has to. Would lady Windblade? Would Elita? No. We have one shot at real change and it has to start with me and you, here. Even if we hate the journey, surely the destination is worth it.”

Optimus stroked his cheekplate. “You’re a very brave mech, Starscream. I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.”

Starscream snorted and pushed away. “That’s enough moping. Let’s go to one of your sitting rooms and talk before that horrendous guard Captain of yours or your butler comes along. We still have much to discuss and go over.”

And with that the vulnerable Seeker was hidden behind layers of armor. Optimus sighed, shrugged, and followed the Seeker to a small room where they could speak without being interrupted- at least until the world they would rule poked its nasal vent in.


	18. Chapter 18

A small red and black data slug projected a map onto the wall. “This is Senator Shockwave’s mansion in the Palacial district. According to our contact in the household staff, this is where the Seekers are staying.” A blue circle appeared on the map and three rooms were highlighted in yellow. “These are the bedrooms.” The mansion’s courtyard was highlighted in green. “And this is where they’re setting up what appears to be the first part of the Vosnian courtship ritual. We don’t know because none of the household staff have been allowed in since they took it over.”

“Okay, so remind me what exactly we’re trying to do here?” A bookish mech with a silver helm questioned. “This just seems… really, really dangerous.”

“It is really, really dangerous. It’s going to be amazing.” A one-eyed helicopter put in.

“We’re going to serve Cybertron, all of Cybertron, remember? This is our one chance to do something for our planet.” The data slug sighed. “Now pay attention this time: Our contact will let us in through the back gate, but from there we’re on our own and the courtyard is on the opposite side of the compound. To make matters more complicated, we don’t know exactly when Starscream will be in the courtyard, and he’s the one we need to get at.”

“Why not any of the other Seekers?” The silver mech questioned.

“Don’t you pay attention?” The one-eyed helicopter snapped. “Starscream is the important one. It has to be him.”

“All right, you don’t have to shout at me.”

“Calm down, you two.” A red and white medic cautioned them. “We don’t need the neighbors hearing.”

“Okay, okay… Go on.”

The data slug gave a static-cough. “Back to the topic at hand, we need to be prepared to split up and head to Starscream’s changing room. Our contact will get us in at the right time, but we won’t know where in the mansion our target is. We all have to know the plan and be ready.”

“And I suppose you have an idea.” The medic continued. 

“I do. I’ve put together these devices. All you have to do is activate them once you have Starscream’s attention.” The data slug held up a half-spherical object. “But there should always be contingency plans, so I want you all to read these directions and memorize them.” He handed around several datachips. “Remember: We get one shot. If this doesn’t work, we’ll probably be tried for trespassing or breaking and entering at the least.”

“We’ll probably go to prison, even if this does work.” The one-eyed helicopter pointed out.

“Don’t be so down. Just get to work memorizing this. It’s important.” The data slug hopped down off of his podium and strode to where the other mechs were sitting, expression determined.

 

Sunstreaker looked up from his still-life when his twin entered the room. “Sideswipe. How are you?” 

“Tired. Ironhide wanted a spar before I headed home.” The red Praxian flopped down onto the couch. “Apparently, the Prime’s Intended gave him a good trouncing this morning. He’s afraid he’s lost his edge.”

“The Seeker, Starscream?” Sunstreaker turned back to his still-life, adding soft touches of pink to the energon-iced oil cake he was painting. “Trounced old Ironhide? I don’t believe you.”

“From what I heard, he had surprise on his side.” Sideswipe popped open a canister of engex. “And apparently he’s some sort of funky Seeker martial arts master, at least that’s what the word is around the Palace. I wasn’t there.”

“Of course.” Sunstreaker looked up at the carefully arranged energon cake and its bouquet of roses beside it. He had been intrigued by the contrast and conformity of the two objects and was attempting to recreate what he saw. His encounter with Sunstorm, though, weighed on his processor and made his optic duller than it usually was. “So, naturally, you’re talking about something you know nothing about.”

“Hey, I know something about it! Ironhide told me that the Seeker beat him.” Sideswipe protested.

“Yes, yes. Of course. Is there any other news?” Sunstreaker changed his brush for a finer one.

“Rodimus put Starscream into a hold after he unsheathed his claws to show them to the Prime. Enthusiastic kid, but kinda dumb when you get down to it.” 

“And Starscream didn’t beat him to a pulp?” Sunstreaker questioned.

“Apparently Prime talked them both down.” Sideswipe replied. “Anyway, what’s new with you? Is your exhibit ready?”

“It is. I was just checking it over this morning. I met one of Starscream’s entourage at the gallery: Sunstorm.” Sunstreaker added a little more dark green to the leaves.

“Sunstorm? Didn’t strike me as much for art.” Sideswipe finished off the iced energon cake.

“Shows what you know then. He has an excellent optic. Almost as good as mine.” Sunstreaker continued to work on the painting. “But he seemed melancholy when he left. I wonder what happened: He was having such a good time before that.”

“Well, did he get a comm or something?”

“Not that I noticed. We were discussing my choice of models. Sunstorm had asked me why I hadn’t painted any Seekers for the exhibit.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I had never met one I wanted to paint. I also offered to paint him against the sunrise.”

“That doesn’t seem like something that would set him off.”

Sunstreaker nodded, looking up at his models again. “I know. I can’t make sense of- Sideswipe, did you eat my oil cake?”

“Uh… Yeah.”

“You buffoon!” Sunstreaker threw a brush at him, a smear of purple paint striping him. “I was using that!”

“Sorry, it looked like you were done!” Sideswipe defended. “I’ll get you another!”

“No, nevermind. It isn’t working anyway.” Sunstreaker pushed back from the easel. “I’m just too worked up over Sunstorm.”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s just a Seeker. They’re sensitive.”

“Yeah.” Sunstreaker went to the window and looked out. “Just a Seeker…”

 

Roller sat at his Xernochord and traced his digits lightly over its keys. Beside him, a slender mech with tesla coils mounted on his shoulders was listening carefully to each chord. “They sound right, Roller. What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know, Amp. I just feel like it should sound more… romantic.” His faceplates heated as the generator nodded.

“I see. We have a certain pretty Seeker on the processor, do we?” Amp chuckled. “Well, why don’t you try tinkering with the zed strings? They seem to bring something softer to the party.” The blind mech was Tarn’s manager, arranging concerts and keeping track of his mail, but like all of Roller’s team, he had a basic knowledge of music and maintenance of instruments.

“And what if I do?” Roller grouched. “He’s very pretty, very nice indeed.”

“He would be a good catch, Roller, I never said any different.” The blind mech responded. “A medic, a civilized Seeker, and an exotic warframe in a city where such things are not common. You might be accused of doing it for the attention.”

“I would never-“ Roller turned on his manager.

“I accuse you of nothing. I merely say what others will, Roller.” Amp replied. “Take care, draw out the courtship, and keep in mind that there will be gossip and we should all come through well enough.”

Roller turned back to the Xernochord and pressed a few keys morosely. “I don’t want to draw it out.”

“Well, you must keep his interests in mind, if not your own. Pharma is Starscream’s handmecha. He may not be free to give himself in courtship yet, at least not public courtship.” Amp placed a servo on Roller’s shoulder. “This is a dangerous clime for warframes. I have said it before: We do not belong here, among these mechs. They may be the ones in the wrong, but we are the ones out of our element.”

“Amp, I respect you, but you are wrong.” Roller replied. “We have as much right to be here as any and I intend to show them.” He played a frustrated chord and closed the Xernochord. “Not all music is Trionate or Bachimus. There is Jazer and Melonincholic and Egalantine as well. Why is it all right for there to be thousands of different compositions: Dancing, Lullabies, even Militant, all living side by side, but frametypes are all separate. We have to come together somehow.”

Amp sighed and patted the shoulder. “I believe you will achieve what you set out to do, Roller, but it takes many servos to turn the pump. There will have to be change from the inside as well as the outside.”

“I know, Amp, thank you.” Roller stood. “It seems I am no longer in the mood to practice, though. I will be about.”

“Of course. I’ll see if I can get the Zed chords to wax romantic while you muse.” Amp smirked. “And compose love tunes to the curve of a certain Seeker’s wings.”

Roller swept out with a sniff at his manager.


	19. Chapter 19

Sunstorm was unusually quiet as the three Seekers pretended to be about courtly pasttimes in their little circle. Starscream, ever determined, was struggling on with a beading set, attempting to make a fringed necklace. Pharma was neatly crocheting minute lace roses, his speedy medic’s servos a boon.

Sunstorm had been needlepicking the hand of adaptus into a cushion face, but he was listlessly laying back on one wing and his digits had long stilled.

“What is on your processor, Sunstorm? This was your idea.” Starscream carefully lined three more small beads on his needle and pushed them onto the thread.

“Yes, well, it is necessary, isn’t it? I mean, consorts and handmecha are supposed to do crafts.” Sunstorm half sparkedly tied a Helexian knot and brought the floss up again. 

“But your processor isn’t on the matter at hand. It isn’t like you at all not to be consumed by a ‘holy work to the glorification of Primus.’” Starscream quoted fluidly, though he cursed in the next moment as he realized he had made a mistake in the fringing several cords back and had to take apart several klicks worth of work to fix it.

“Here, I’ll do it.” Pharma offered, trying to take the beading from the tricolor Seeker.

“No, no. I have it.” Starscream unhappily began sliding beads off. “Now, Sunstorm, tell us what the problem is.”

“I went to see an art gallery this morning.” Sunstorm began.

“Mm. Yes, I remember. You weren’t back until well past when I returned from the Primal Palace.” Starscream glared at the golden Seeker, whose wings shivered apologetically. “Very well, what happened?”

“I met an artist there who made the most wonderful paintings. He’s as devoted a servant of Primus as I am, though he speaks the truth in his-“ The other two Seekers coughed static. “Well, anyway, we were talking and I asked him why he hadn’t painted any Seekers.”

“Mm? What did he say?” Pharma put down his lacework.

“He said that… that he didn’t think a painting of a Seeker would go with the collection… Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He is Praxian, after all.” Sunstorm pushed away the cushion.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it to be hurtful.” Pharma put forth. “If you were getting along before he said that, maybe it was just thoughtless.”

Starscream sniffed, fans whirring. “Thoughtlessness is the worst kind of injury.” He turned to Sunstorm. “If you think he’s worth pursuing as an ally, you should go and explain everything to him. Then, he can apologize or not as he will.”

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Sunstorm sighed. “But what if he really doesn’t think Seekers are worthy of Primus? What if-“

“Oh, hush.” Starscream told his handmecha crossly. “If Primus doesn’t number you among his favorites, there’s something wrong with the old fool.”

Sunstorm heated and his wings stood up. “Don’t speak so of Primus! He is our Creator and deserves our utmost respect and adoration-“

Pharma and Starscream glanced at each other with amusement in their optics as the golden Seeker ranted. That was the Sunstorm they knew.

 

Thundercracker and Skywarp streaked over the plains outside of Iacon. After leaving their charges in Metalhawk’s capable servos, they had gone out to fly together for a few moments away from the politics and regimented life they had been forced to live for the past two weeks.

There would be no end to it either. This was permanence.

So, they would take these moments to be free when they could.

Thundercracker spotted a tall mesa poking out of the ground in the distance. They moved for it, circled, and landed on the edge in tandem, close together and perfect as usual. Skywarp leaned into Thundercracker immediately, purring softly.

Thundercracker hummed in return and they turned their optics towards Iacon. It was beautiful in the glow of the setting sun. The glass and metal reflected the golden and red light. It was too bad that it became black and silver glass again as soon as one got close enough. The Primal Palace, at least, was made of Variegate and Armble. It wasn’t so bad as the rest of the over-stiff and sleek city. 

Skywarp sighed and turned to nuzzle his mate. “Thunder…”

“Not here. Can you imagine what the gossip rags would say if we were caught outside.” Thundercracker pushed him away.

“But Thunderhead… We’re all alone and we’re so high in the air.” Skywarp nuzzled closer and tickled his mate’s wing.

“Not high enough.” Thundercracker smacked Skywarp’s servo. “And I have never encouraged you outdoors. I can’t imagine why you would think that would change now that there is so much more at stake than simple propriety.”

“Oh, Thundercracker… We’ve had to be so stiff and proper for so long… Don’t you want to let loose for once?”

“It’s never just ‘once’ with you, Skywarp.” Thundercracker grumbled. 

“Oh, Thunder.” Skywarp laid down in his lap. “You’re no fun.”

“I have to be, because you’re too much fun.” Thundercracker reminded him, stroking his helm. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“You always say that.” Skywarp sighed.

“And you always act like a sparkling whenever I refuse you a treat.” Thundercracker reminded his mate.

“But I’m your sparkling.” Skywarp pouted.

Thundercracker smiled fondly. “That you are.”

 

The Matrix had finally stopped pulsing waves of calm across Optimus’s spark. He sighed and sank into berth, the day’s worries slipping into his plating through every seam and infecting his processor. Senator Tractor had been ranting on something in the day’s session of Senate and Senator Mirage had gotten into a brutally polite words match with Senator Shockwave that had ended with both of them stewing through the session.

Optimus didn’t understand what half of it was about in any case. He was as confused as it was possible to be and didn’t enjoy the sensation of attempting to untangle miles and miles of words that had no meaning. By the end, he was certain even Senator Tractor had no idea what he was saying, but the ancient mech had plowed on through it. Oh, well. Senator Shockwave had mentioned that the old Senator would not run for election again. Not that it mattered. As a worker, Optimus had known that very few of his colleagues voted. Every mech over 200 vorns was allowed to, but few believed that their votes would matter. It was sad.

The people had a voice. He just had to make it speak and then ensure it was heard.

Perhaps he could arrange a trip down into the underlevels, to talk to the mechs he had once known. There was wisdom, even in simple places, and he doubted that the people cared about “the need for a certain reverence in regards to the issues at hand.” See what he meant? Did anyone know what that meant? Did it mean anything at all if no one knew what it was?

Optimus groaned and turned over on his side, hissing into the pillow he had laid his head on, but recharge was hard to get at that night. Idly, a servo traced down his frame and towards his modesty panel. He could do with an overload and he had plenty to fantasize about after Starscream’s display earlier. It would be a personal pleasure to get that engine purring in pleasure. He had heard it roaring that morning. Of course, a Seeker would have a powerful engine, well excercised and kept clean and oiled. 

And those wings and leg struts… Perhaps it was just the grounder speaking, but those wings, their silky expanse gleaming in the morning light, they made Starscream into an etheareal being. An angel given form and life. Could something so beautiful truly exist or was it another fantasy?

Optimus seized as his digits found his spike and wrapped around it, tracing the nodes on its head. Starscream had a pair of vent fans set into his chassis, his cockpit swelling between them. Where was it sensitive? The fans were probably full of sensors, always testing the air, looking for anything in it that might affect flight…


	20. Chapter 20

Lady Windblade’s bathing party was full of femmes of every frametype. Starscream and his handmecha were the only mechs in attendance aside from the heavily-modified masseuses. 

The bathing pool was warm and the femmes lounged in and around it. Windblade herself came to greet Starscream, bowing. Starscream recalled that Caminus held the Primes and their consorts as sacred. “Intended of the Prime. You honor me with your presence.”

Pharma turned to Starscream- once again pretending to translate. “She’s a bit formal.”

Starscream responded. “Camiens follow what is called “the Way of Flame.” It’s based on a heretical text known as the Solus Enigma, but don’t tell her that.”

Pharma turned back to Windblade. “The Intended is very pleased to see you again, Lady Windblade. You made a good impression.”

Starscream barely controlled the snort.

Windblade smiled. “I am gratified, Intended. Please, do not allow my prattling to keep you from enjoying the bathing pools. Is there anything you desire?”

Pharma turned to Starscream. “You have to admit, you’re enjoying the attention.”

“Of course I am.” Starscream nodded. “And ask for some Peorple flavored energon.”

Pharma turned back to Windblade and made the request. The Camien flyer nodded. “I can do better than that, Intended. I have made an effort to acquire means of fueling that you would enjoy more. There is Peorple juice on ice, if you wish.”

Pharma looked impressed when he spoke to Starscream. “This should be interesting. I wonder what else she’s managed to bring from Vos’s vicinity.”

“Hopefully nothing too extravagant.” Starscream was more apprehensive than Pharma. This had the potential to go very wrong, very quickly.

Still, the juice was pleasant enough when it was brought. Starscream sipped with care. It had been a long time since he had had something unrefined. It was not in vogue when he was a scientist and aside from foraged foods, there wasn’t much to be found in Vos but low quality energon. Not much affordable anyway.

It could make a mech sick to eat unrefined foods if one wasn’t used to it.

Sunstorm laid down on a table and allowed the heavy convoy mechs to massage his wings. “Gentle with them, please. I was made delicate by Primus.”

The convoy nodded. He had a tattoo of the matrix painted on his cheek. “Of course, master Sunstorm. Shall I recite the Formation of Adaptus while I do so?”

“You know the Formation by Memory?” Sunstorm smiled in awe. “Then by all means, let me hear it. I delight to hear Primus’s words spoken.”

The convoy began reciting and Starscream rolled his optics. “There’s belief in powers above oneself and then there’s comedy. That is soundly comedy.”

Pharma nodded. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get in under the oil shower before I hop in the pool. I could use some in my joints.”

“Not at all. I can manage myself. Maybe I’ll show off some of my “Iaconian” practice.” They shared a chuckle and Pharma moved off to the shower of scented oils. Starscream sat down on the edge of the hot pool and dipped his pedes.

Elita One approached Starscream while Pharma was away with two friends. They smiled brightly. Starscream smiled back, not trusting them at all, but ready to be amused by their indiscretions.

Elita greeted him in a butchered attempt at Vosnian and Starscream smiled patently falsely. “Good afternoon.” He spoke deliberately slowly and with care.

Elita smiled and giggled back. “Good afternoon to you too, you imitator.”

“Do you think it was Pharma or the Prime who taught him that?” Moonracer questioned, clinking her flute of high grade with another femme, Override. 

“It was probably the Prime. He’ll have to do a lot of work to get his parrotlet speaking proper Iaconian, though.” 

“Do you think he offers him energon treats every time he learns how to use a new phrase?” Elita tweaked the Seeker’s wing, smiling and laughing as Starscream turned to her and smiled, spitting a few insults in Vosnian that the femme chuckled at and turned to a friend again.

“I wonder what the little fool is saying to us. Don’t you think it’s so sad? The Matrix chose a consort who could never succeed.”

“Indeed. Very sad, my lady.” Chromia agreed. “Well, when he does inevitably fail in his attempt to rule beside the Lord Prime, perhaps there will be a second choice.”

Starscream couldn’t stand to listen to them anymore. With his insipid smile firmly in place, he slid into the pool and gently splashed at the femmes, inviting them to play with chirped Seeker Speech and beckoning gestures. Let them think he was stupid and childish, he enjoyed their ignorance almost as much as he enjoyed the triumph of being chosen Intended.

Elita and her posse joined him at play, abandoning their drinks on the side of the pool and splashing. If Starscream had been inclined to forget their unkind words, he might have wanted to call them friends. As it was, he took great pleasure in leading them out into the deepest part of the pool and dunking them soundly, all in the guise of cheerful “play.”

Pharma and Lady WIndblade joined in after a few klicks and Pharma and Starscream paused for a moment near the edge of the pool. “You seem to be getting along.” Pharma twittered.

“Not everything is as it seems.” Starscream commented. “They are quite loathsome.”

“Indeed. What did they say this time?”

“Oh, it was more poking fun at the foolish little Seeker who could never hope to be a good match for Prime.” Starscream waved it off. “Frameist swine.”

“Indeed. I wonder what they would think if they knew that their own frames were considered as inferior as Seeker’s by Jhiaxus.” Pharma mentioned the original founder of Functionism, the purist who had declared that there was one perfect frametype and that it was merely a matter of finding it. From his study of the Primal scriptures, he had declared that the Convoys of Iacon were the closest to the perfect frame and Seekers farthest away. Of course, this still meant that the other frametypes were inferior. 

Sunstorm would protest the use of Primus’s words to support a “horrid perversion of Primus’s will!” Starscream and Pharma didn’t care what reasoning was used. Any study that ranked a mech’s value by frame and not by processor or spark was not a system they could support or would.

Of course, in this modern day and age, the roots of Functionism were forgotten and it was accepted by most. It was disgusting. 

Starscream and Pharma retired to one of the hot pools and sipped cold drinks, thinking on what they had undertaken. 

 

The red and black data slug looked over the last details of their plan. “All right. Starscream and his handmecha should be coming back from Lady Windblade’s bathing party in two cycles. We’ll give them a cycle to settle and then go in. They should be relaxed and pliant after a bathing party like that.”

“Right, right, just show me what we need to smash.” The one-opticed helicopter waved off the datastick.

“Ideally, we shouldn’t smash anything.” The silver-helmed mech reminded the helicopter. “We’ll be let in through the back garden, then all we have to do is get to one of our locations quickly. We’ll split up. Remember.” He showed them the devices again. “Get close to Starscream and activate them.”

“Right. Then what?”

“Pray this works.” The red and white medic sighed. “I wish we could do this more normally.”

“I told you, we couldn’t even make it past Senator Shockwave’s secretary.” The red and black data slug reminded the medic. “This is for Cybertron! For all of Cybertron, every frametype! What we do here will echo down-“

“Inspiring as this is, let’s head for the mansion. Not all of us can fly and the roads will be clogged soon enough.” The silver-helmed mech reminded the data slug.

“Oh, fine. Let’s head out.” The data slug agreed. “Everyone, remember to take one!” 

The one-eyed helicopter hefted a device and nodded. “Right. Let’s do this!”


	21. Chapter 21

Senator Shockwave’s kitchen worker, Blip, was nervous when he saw Rewind and his ragtag group outside. “Just don’t break anything, please, and don’t mention that I let you in.” He pleaded as he unlocked the gate. “The Intended is just returned from Lady Windblade’s party and should be resting in his quarters, but I can’t be sure. I don’t know what mood he’s in so… Just please, be careful.”

“We will be. Thank you, Blip.” Rewind told him. “Don’t worry, no one will mention your name. If worst comes to worst, we’ll keep it quiet.”

Blip nodded and stood aside from the gate, letting the party in.

“I’ve never been around so much fragile in my life.” Whirl surveyed the garden. “And I can’t break any of it!”

“All right, you all know what to do.” Rewind pointed towards the mansion. “Let’s do it!” They separated and went searching for their targets.

 

Rewind had chosen to approach Starscream and Pharma’s quarters. It seemed the most likely place that he would find the Intended. As he had instructed the rest of his team of misfit would-be secret agents, he had memorized the layout of Shockwave’s mansion and knew that he had to take a back passage through a servant’s way and then creep across the hall to Starscream’s room.

The tiny data slug took a deep breath and began the long climb up the flights of stairs built for much larger mechs. It was a long, hard slog, but he was determined.

 

Chromedome was the one assigned to the courtyard where the Seekers were setting what appeared to be a combined stage and restaurant up. It was the easiest to reach and the most futile. The only Seekers there were Thundercracker and Metalhawk, unfortunately, and they were hanging what looked like banners with what appeared to be stylized crystal formations and enerflowers on them. There were glass lanterns, delicate as an Electrofly’s wings, hung among the Strees’ branches as well. The whole courtyard was going to look like something out of a fairytale by the time the Seekers were done with it.

Chromedome was laying low behind a few shrubs, just watching. If Starscream came out to the courtyard, he would be waiting to spring Rewind’s pre-recorded message on the Intended. If he didn’t, the former police officer would be content to just watch as the Seekers flew about, decorating according to a seemingly random, but carefully organized pattern, if the chat and scolding between them was to be interpreted as instructions and corrections in Vosnian. It was fascinating to watch. No wonder Rewind wanted in on all of this.

There was a sudden noise from behind him, like someone slapping rubber together mixed with the pop of electricity. “Well, well, well… Who are you?”

“I can explain!” Chromedome looked up just in time to see a black fist coming straight for him. There was a sharp crunch and his lights were out. Victory for Skywarp.

Skywarp looked over at the other two Seekers. “Hey, guys! Get on the horn and get Starscream into the air and to safety! We have intruders!”

Metalhawk reached over and touched his commlink. “Metalhawk to Starscream, come in Intended.”

“Metalhawk? What is it?” Starscream’s voice was muddled by recharge. 

“We have intruders in the mansion. Skywarp is recommending immediate evacuation.”

“Agreed. Inform Senator Shockwave and Pharma and I will be on our way. We regroup above the Mansion in ten klicks and otherwise meet at the Primal Palace.” Starscream responded.

“Agreed, Intended.” Metalhawk turned to Thundercracker and Skywarp. “Into the air, we meet the Intended above the Mansion. Thundercracker, comm Senator Shockwave, make him aware of the situation.”

Thundercracker nodded and opened his comm as the three Seekers transformed and took to the air to wait for their charges. “Senator, there are intruders in the Mansion. We are evacuating to the Primal Palace now.”

“I am aware of the situation, Thundercracker.” Shockwave mildly told him. “Megatron and myself have intercepted another one on his way to the Intended’s bathing chambers. We will inform you when it is safe to return.”

“Thank you, sir.” Thundercracker hung up and they began flying a circling pattern above the mansion, waiting for Starscream, Pharma, and Sunstorm.

 

Senator Shockwave and Megatron turned back to the spluttering nurse the pair had intercepted. First Aid had been heading to the Intended’s bathing chamber. Why would he do this? It was the last place a mech back from a bathing party would go. That, of course, had been his logic. He didn’t want to get caught or find Starscream. He was such a fumbler with words, it would have been a disaster if he had to talk either to the Seeker or worse, to a guard. 

Having to speak to Senator Shockwave and Lord Megatron was the worst situation it was possible to be in. 

“Well, I suppose you have some kind of explanation?” Senator Shockwave addressed First Aid. “As a member of the medical profession, I wouldn’t expect you to be a simple assassin.”

First Aid choked. They did think they were here to kill the Intended! They couldn’t be farther from the truth. “No- No, we’re not here to kill anyone.”

“We? Who is this we?” Megatron pinned the cowed medic with a glare. “How many more of you are there?”

“No one! I mean, there’s one, but your blue Seeker found him!” First Aid stuttered. “There’s no one else!”

“Really?” Megatron did not look convinced. His comm twittered again and he answered. “Starscream?”

“Megatron! We’re pinned down in our quarters! There’s a helicopter outside on the balcony and he’s keeping us from reaching the door!” Starscream’s voice was not panicked, remarkably, but there was laser fire in the background and the noise of rattling wings and whimpering from what must have been Pharma laced the transmission. First Aid’s dentae squeaked as he champed them together. Of course, Whirl must have decided that the best way to get Starscream to stay in the mansion and listen to them was to fire on the Intended. Rewind was going to be fragged off, assuming he hadn’t been caught yet. If they didn’t know about anyone except the three of them, there might be a chance that the data slug was free yet and could still argue their case.

Megatron shot First Aid an ironical look. “So, there’s only two of you? Senator, I will deal with this helicopter, you stay here with the medic. See if you can get any more out of him.” Megatron’s fusion cannon began warming up and he rushed out.

First Aid whimpered as the formidable Senator turned his full attention back to him. “We’re not here to hurt anyone!” He exclaimed. “We just wanted to talk to the Intended!”

Senator Shockwave looked doubtful. “Why didn’t you go through normal channels?”

First Aid gestured to himself. “Do I look like someone who could reach out to a Senator? No one would take our calls!”

Senator Shockwave nodded. “So, you thought invading my home would be the appropriate response? And what of this attack? I defy you to say that a helicopter firing into someone’s bedroom is non-threatening.”

First Aid sighed. “That would be Whirl. He gets… excited…”

“Whirl. I’ve heard of him. Former police officer, convicted of abusing prisoners under his charge. Lord Megatron was one of them.” Senator Shockwave glared at the nurse. “Why are you conspiring with a convicted felon?”

“Whirl has issues, but he promised to help us without hurting anyone or breaking anything. He was the only person we knew who could fly!” First Aid was beginning to feel desperate, nothing seemed to be getting through to the Senator. “We had to have someone who could fly to keep up with the Seekers in case they took to the air!” The longer he stood in that room, staring down a handgun, the more he felt as if he had thrown away everything he could have done, anything that the future could have brought. What would his Carrier and Creator say when they heard?

“So, you brought an unstable helicopter into my home.” Senator Shockwave glared at First Aid. “I am going to ruin you, all three of you, for this. You have violated my privacy, put the future of Cybertron in danger, and one of your compatriots is destroying my house as we speak. I think I would be justified in shooting you right now, but I won’t. I’m going to watch you and the rest of this cabal fall into a slog that you will never get out of.”

First Aid, staring down the length of a pistol into a pair of optics that flared like death, believed him.


	22. Chapter 22

Whirl had genuinely meant to not break stuff. It wasn’t his intention to open fire, really. It was true. But then he saw the Intended and Pharma heading for the balcony and he had to do something! And there was this really nice cannon on his underside, pointed right at them. He fired a warning shot that sent the two Seekers scurrying into the washrack and kept them there by firing occasionally at the door. 

Now, he just had to figure out how to let Rewind in to do his spiel when he arrived. He hoped the Intended wasn’t too panicked when the data slug reached them.

Starscream struck Whirl as a pretty cool fish, he was probably keeping his head, making ideas as the helicopter fired. Still, had to keep him pinned down to give Rewind time to get there.

Megatron appeared in the hole Whirl had been systematically making in the Intended’s sleeping chamber. The warlord fired his fusion cannon at Whirl, who ducked a little bit out of the way and fired back. The warlord shot the missiles and continued his fire at Whirl.

Suddenly, laser fire struck the balcony beside Whirl. The other three Seekers had finally been commed or spotted him and they were on his case. Whirl fired a couple more missles into the room and flew up to counter the Seekers again.

 

Meanwhile, Rewind reached the Intended’s hallway and found that there was a hole in the wall leading to the Intended’s room and that Whirl was actively firing out of it. “Oh, no… Whirl, you promised.” Rewind moaned. That was just great. Damage control was upped from just “I broke into your house” to “my friend actively destroyed your house.”

Megatron, Lord Megatron, rushed past Rewind as if he was invisible and fired back at Whirl. Whirl, naturally, fired back on the Decepticon leader. The firing stopped as the obvious sound of Seeker engines roared outside. This was his chance. Rewind skidded into the Intended’s room and took a moment to look around. Starscream and Pharma were looking out of the washracks to see if Whirl was still there. Megatron was on the balcony, aiming with his cannon. Rewind skidded in with them and slammed the door. “Intended Starscream, I beg you to listen to me!”

Starscream and Pharma were taken aback. Pharma visibly cringed from the memory stick, but Starscream stared Rewind down. “What do you want? Speak quickly or you will never speak again.”

Rewind took a breath and began the speech of his life.

 

First Aid was whimpering quietly to himself as Shockwave and Megatron exchanged comms taking stock of the situation. Shockwave was calling his own home defense to bear on the helicopter. It was all coming apart. How had he been talked into this? What would Ratchet say when he found out?

Shockwave finally turned back to First Aid. “Fortunately, your friend has not killed anyone… yet. So at least you won’t be charged with murder.”

The poor nurse moaned and muttered to himself. “All Rewind wanted was to film for the Intended.”

Shockwave froze. “What?”

“Rewind wants to record the Intended’s wedding activities and the Seekers.” First Aid responded miserably. “He knew that no one else from Iacon’s Academy would make the Nuptial Record.”

Shockwave was absolutely silent. “You broke into my house, brought an insane helicopter to support you, and caused massive amounts of chaos and upheaval in our schedule because your friend wanted to make the Nuptial Record?”

First Aid hunched over. “He wants to do a documentary series on Seekers too. Something to bring them out of the shadows and make them more familiar.”

Shockwave planted a servo on his faceplates. “My secretary received such a proposition. I dismissed it as a security risk. If I had known this would follow, I would have dealt with you more thoroughly.”

First Aid hunched in a little tighter. “Rewind thought you had just ignored us.”

“I never ignore my citizens, First Aid. I read much of my mail personally, when I can, and I take anything that interests me in my office. Your group’s proposition was interesting, but I rejected it for legitimate reasons and now this has happened.” Shockwave rubbed his optics. “This is a mess. The Intended is going to be in no mood to hear propositions after all this and I have lost my patience for such nonsense. Tell me, where is this “Rewind” so that I can expel all of you and ensure that Whirl is dealt with?”

First Aid heaved an in-vent. “Rewind was supposed to head directly to the Intended’s quarters to speak to him directly. We decided it was the most likely place he would be after Lady Windblade’s party.”

“Indeed. So, you are not brainless. Not entirely at least. Merely very, very foolish.” Shockwave holstered his blaster. “If this Rewind is on his way to the Intended’s quarters, Lord Megatron will likely catch him.”

First Aid nodded and hugged his chassis. Perhaps Rewind had gotten into the Intended’s chamber and pitched their spiel to him already. Maybe they could all come through this mess intact.

Hopefully, Whirl hadn’t hurt anyone…

 

Skywarp, Thundercracker, Metalhawk, and Sunstorm worked the helicopter over in the air while Megatron singed his propellers with cannon blasts. Slowly, they forced the volatile mech to the ground, where he had the distinct disadvantage against three Seekers who had mastered all seven of the Vosnian martial arts and Sunstorm, whose energy abilities were equally useful in a fight. 

Whirl found himself on his faceplate with his claws stasis cuffed behind his back and kicked out, cursing the Seekers in three dialects. He might not speak Vosnian, but he spoke swearwords fluently.

Thundercracker was on his comm. “Intended, we have captured the helicopter.”

“Excellent, Thundercracker. Make sure he calms down and then release him. Have Skywarp bring the mech he knocked out earlier to Shockwave’s study.” Starscream calmly replied. “The helicopter can come if he so chooses, but keep his servos bound.”

Thundercracker jolted. “Are you certain, Star? That seems like a really bad idea.”

“I am certain. I have found the last member of this little cabal and I found that they have a rather interesting proposition for us. I would like to hear them out.” Starscream told his brother in law.

Thundercracker nodded. “Of course, Intended, at once.” He turned back to his fellow Seekers. “Starscream says to bring the conspirators to Senator Shockwave’s study. Come on. Skywarp, go get the idiot you dropped earlier and bring him around.”

“What’s that all about, TC?” Skywarp questioned. “I thought we were evacuating.”

“Change in plans apparently. I guess we just have to trust Star.”

“I hate just trusting something, but Star knows what he’s doing.” Skywarp muttered. “He always does.”

“Yeah. So, you gonna calm down so you can see the Intended?” Thundercracker questioned Whirl.

“Frag you and your Carriers and all your aeriemates…” Whirl’s curses were becoming less creative as he continued to spew them. Some bordered on the ridiculous.

“I’ll take that as a ‘knock me out.’” Thundercracker lifted a pede above Whirl’s helm and put his lights out.


	23. Chapter 23

When Thundercracker and Skywarp reached Senator Shockwave’s study, they found Starscream sitting on a couch with a data slug. Metalhawk dragged their intruder from the garden in while Pharma was tending to a shaking medic and seemed to be treating him for shock and stress.

“Okay, who are these clowns and what do they want?” Skywarp tossed Whirl onto the carpet.

“This is Rewind, Whirl, First Aid, and Chromedome. Metalhawk, be careful with Chromedome, he’s Rewind’s Conjux.” Starscream explained. Senator Shockwave and Lord Megatron were standing with their arms folded, neither looked happy.

Metalhawk set Chromedome down in a chair. “I still want to know who they are and what they think they’re doing.”

“Rewind is a historian and documentarian.” Starscream explained. “He has come to us with a proposal: I think we should hear him out.” He turned to the data slug and spoke in a surprisingly gentle tone to the small mech. “Go ahead, Rewind.”

Rewind took an in-vent and stood up, activating his projector and playing his recorded speech. “For the past era, Seekers have been a mystery to the ground bound mechs of Praxus and Iacon. Instead of seeking to understand these mysterious children of Primus, though, we have scorned and enslaved them. I, Rewind of Iacon, wish to help Prime’s Intended, Starscream, put this right by educating the common folk on our Seeker siblings. To this end, I would like to volunteer my services as an archivist to record and compile the Intended’s Nuptial Record as well as to gather footage for a full-scale documentary on Vos and her plight.

“I ask that the Intended look past my outward appearance. As a data slug, I too have been looked down upon by the Functionist faction, but inside my small frame, my spark burns for equality and freedom- the right of all mecha. I am tiny, but I work hard and I graduated as the top of my class in my field. Since then, I have been discriminated against for my stance against Functionism and the Grand Taxonomy that still rules Cybertron. I say this, not to ask for sympathy or to establish myself as a heroic martyr, but to make the Intended understand that I mean him and his no harm and that my only wish is to help him in any way I can.

“If you are viewing this message, it means that either I, myself, have reached you, or one of my comrades has delivered one of the recording devices I equipped each one with. At this point in time, it is highly likely that we have broken into Senator Shockwave’s mansion, and that we may have caused distress to the Intended or to his handmecha. This was not our intention and I beg for your forgiveness. This scheme was my idea and any damage caused is my responsibility. Please do not hold it against any of my companions. 

“With that said, I beg that the Intended and the good Senator consider my offer. I trust that we share the same goal: A free and equal Cybertron for all.” The message stopped playing and the data slug sat down next to Starscream again.

Lord Megatron looked more sympathetically at the small group. “Excellent words, Rewind. I am intrigued by this proposal, but as Senator Shockwave is the wounded party, he is the one who must decide whether or not to press charges against you and the members of your cabal.”

All optics turned to the Senator, whose plating was flared and faceplates deeply furious. He spoke through clenched dentas. “I do not normally hold a grudge against well-meaning mechs, but in this case, I do object. This helicopter has not only invaded my home, but actively destroyed it.” He pointed down at Whirl. “And I cannot simply let that go.”

Megatron looked down at Whirl. “I understand your feeling, my friend. I recognize this helicopter: He was the one-opticed guard who assaulted me during my time in the maximum security prison he was subsequently placed in. Still, a part of our philosophy is to give damaged and oppressed mechs a second chance. Perhaps his part in this endeavor is proof that he has changed and wishes to leave his old ways behind?”

“The fact that he chose to fire missiles and lasers into the Intended’s sleeping chamber- perhaps costing us millions of credits in damages- belies that idea, My Lord.” Shockwave pointed out.

“Whirl is processor-damaged.” Chromedome had come around while they were discussing the helicopter. “His processor automatically goes to violence as a first resort rather than a last one. He refuses treatment, though, and isolates himself.”

“Then he is not only dangerous, but unrepentantly dangerous.” Senator Shockwave snapped. “And must be dealt with. I will gladly forgive the rest of your comrades for their part in this mess, but I must insist that we charge Whirl with not only trespassing, but armed assault and the mindless destruction of property.”

“I agree.” Megatron folded his arms. “While it is clear that the rest of you meant no harm, Whirl has given into his instincts to launch an unprovoked attack against the Intended and his handmecha, Pharma. Is this acceptable, Rewind?”

Rewind was quiet for a long moment. “I meant what I said in my speech, Lord Megatron, I must take full responsibility for the actions of my party. We knew what Whirl was likely to do and we brought him anyway.”

“Rewind, Whirl did give you his word that he wouldn’t destroy anything.” Chromedome pointed out. “That’s why we assigned him to the balcony and the air outside, so he wouldn’t have the temptation to wreck the Senator’s mansion. You can’t take responsibility if Whirl disobeyed your direct orders.”

“I agree with Chromedome.” Starscream turned to the small data slug. “Whirl has acted outside of your plan and therefore has acted outside of your responsibility, though the charge of trespassing must be dropped from the list, the more serious charges are not your own.”

Rewind made a small noise as he thought. His camera had been on the entire time. He looked up. “I… I agree. Whirl did act outside of what I asked him to do and he did fire his missiles into the Senator’s mansion, against a promise we extracted from him earlier.”

First Aid gave a sigh of relief. “Can… Can I go now? I’m sorry… this has been a lot to process today, and I… I just want to go home.”

“Of course, First Aid.” Lord Megatron gently told the distressed nurse. “Shockwave, can you arrange for someone to drive home with First Aid?”

Shockwave touched his comm and had a private conversation with someone on the line. After a moment, he nodded. “A guardsman named Auriel will meet you at the front entrance. I trust you know where it is?”

“Yes, yes… Thank you.” First Aid fled the room as quickly as his leg struts could carry him. 

Starscream nodded. “With that out of the way, I think we need to talk about where Rewind is going to stay. His own apartment is a little bit far for him to commute, given his alt-mode.”

“He will be given a room adjacent to your own, Intended.” Shockwave agreed. “Naturally, you will have to be moved to a different wing. Security on the East wing is now compromised and I will have to bring in construction workers.”

“I will call my Constructicons from Kaon.” Lord Megatron replied. “The damage will be temporary, Senator, I assure you.”

“Excuse me?” Rewind quietly asked. “May I make a request?”

“Certainly, Rewind. Speak.”

“May Chromedome stay with me? He helps me to keep my data organized and to edit my presentations as well as being my conjux.” The data slug dared to look hopeful.

“That can be arranged quite easily.” Shockwave agreed. “Is there anything else?”

“No, sir. Thank you.”

Lord Megatron clapped his servos. “Excellent. Well, then, let’s see what has become of the Intended’s wardrobe.”

Starscream agreed and rose. “Come, Pharma.”

Senator Shockwave remained to arrange for Whirl to be arrested and Rewind and Chromedome followed First Aid out of the mansion. They met the nurse hovering at the corner of the street, still shaken, but looking a little better. “I thought you went home, First Aid.”

“I tried, but I had to wait for you, to see what happened.” First Aid fell in step with the others. “It went well?”

“We did it, Aid. Rewind’s the Intended’s recorder.” Chromedome smiled down at the memory stick. 

Rewind was walking on air. “We’re going to make a difference, First Aid. Do you still want out?”

First Aid nodded. “That was far too much of an adventure. My spark couldn’t handle another one.”

The three mechs chuckled and walked towards their homes, parting ways. Chromedome and Rewind to gather their basic necessities and return to Shockwave’s mansion, First Aid back to his cozy apartment and office for a long lie-down.


	24. Chapter 24

Sunstreaker sat up in the middle of the night. Gathering his black covering and gold chain, he began dressing frantically. 

Sideswipe groaned and pushed himself out of berth. “Sides, what are you doing?”

“I have to go apologize to Sunstorm. It won’t stop bothering me, and I think I know why he fled like that.” Sunstreaker touched himself up a little with clearcoat and gold paint.

“Sides, it’s the middle of the nightcycle. He’s not going to appreciate this. What are you going to do, serenade him?” Sideswipe sighed, leaning against a doorframe.

Sunstreaker paused in his movements. Sideswipe was correct. It was far too late to go knocking about a Senator’s Mansion. “What am I supposed to do then? I can’t recharge.”

“Paint something, just stop banging around. I have to report early for training.” Sideswipe headed back to berth.

Sunstreaker sighed and pulled off his cloak. “I’m going first thing in the morning.”

“That’s fine! Just shut up now!” Sideswipe called back and there was a series of creaks as he settled into his berth.

Sunstreaker sat down on his berth and took out his sketching kit to pass the time. He wouldn’t be getting any recharge tonight.

 

Sideswipe paused in the doorway to Sunstreaker’s room. The golden Praxian was sleeping, nearly folded in half over his sketchpad and curled up on the berth covers. The red twin nodded. Well, if he needed recharge before facing yon fair, golden plated Seeker, he needed it. Sideswipe picked up his guardsman’s cuffs and sigil and headed out the door and into Iacon. It was before sunrise and the sky was dim with the promise of light.

Ironhide was waiting for the red Praxian when he arrived. Sideswipe was the first guardsman there, but several others soon followed. The little red mech who attended on the Prime, Cliffjumper, scurried in and tapped Ironhide’s hip. “Ironhide, Prime sent me to tell you that the Seeker delegation wants to observe your guardsmen at their training.

There was a snort from Rodimus’s direction. Sideswipe reflected that the red and gold mech had had a run-in with the Intended after Starscream had showed Optimus Prime his claws while Rodimus was on guard. Sideswipe couldn’t blame him for being angry under the circumstances.

“It’s disgusting.” Someone, another Praxian, muttered. Most of the guardsmen were Praxians, a call back to the days when the Primal Vanguard was the Praxian Honor Guard, and “warframes” hadn’t been allowed into any sort of respected position. Even now, Sideswipe could hardly imagine standing shoulder to shoulder- or shoulder to wing- with a Seeker or a Tank, though that might change any cycle now that Prime’s Intended was a Seeker. 

“There will be none of tha’ kind of talk.” Ironhide snapped over the group. “Your Prime’s Intended is a Seeker and that’s that. I don’t want to hear anymore abou’ it. Tha’ clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” The guardsmen drew themselves up and chanted. 

“Starting off, we’re going to do some drills. Ah want a 50-20-50 repetition set alternating jabs with kicks and hooks. Well? Start!” Ironhide barked at them.

There was a groan and they began the repetitive drills. This was the worst part of their training. 

Rodimus huffed under his breath. Stupid slagging Seekers. Why did they have to ruin everything? If he had to admit it, he felt deeply ashamed of assuming the worst of Starscream’s actions and at the same time felt completely justified in his suspicion. Seekers were warframes and flyers in one. They couldn’t be trusted.

The mech beside him muttered to Rodimus. “You know, we’re not the only ones unhappy with our Prime’s decision.”

“Yeah, but what can we do about it? We don’t elect the Prime. We barely elect the Senate.” Rodimus muttered back.

“We’ll talk about it later. Meet me in the Gilded Lily room after your patrol shift. I have someone I want you to meet.” The mech whispered. “Bring anyone else you think would be on our side.”

Rodimus nodded agreement. “All right. It’s worth a listen at least.”

Their conversation was cut off by the sound of jet engines and transformation overhead. The three bodyguard Seekers settled on the wall to watch the guards train. Optics raised to the flyers briefly before falling back to their training. With a stony stoicism, the guards ignored the warframes they had orders to protect. If the Seekers noticed it, they gave no sign. They watched from the wall, staring down from on high.

Rodimus glared bitterly ahead. Of course. Fragging flyers, thinking they were so above the rest of them, acting as if Primus had blessed them so much more than other mechs. Why didn’t they stay in Vos if they were so amazing?

 

Sunstreaker woke with a start once again. Light was pouring through the window and it was clearly far past the early morning. In fact, it was nearing noontime energon. The artist bolted through his preperations and rushed out the door as quickly as possible. Perhaps he could find Sunstorm at Senator Shockwave’s Mansion now. The Seeker mech might be at the Primal Palace, though, attending on Starscream as he and Optimus discussed and went about the business of arranging their bonding and the ceremonies leading to it. Sunstreaker knew that there was supposed to be a dinner later in the week. He wouldn’t be invited- it was more private, “familial”- but he would be at the ball that would follow the next decacycle.

He needed to find Sunstorm, though, apologize and attempt to make up with the devout flyer. With that in mind, he transformed and headed for the Palace.

 

Sunstorm quietly sat on his cushion, continuing to embroider with beads. Starscream had gone to the Palace, Pharma to a Symphony Hall to see about arrangements for an Opera Ball. Sunstorm, who neither knew Iacon, nor had anywhere to go, had been given the day off and instructed to continue working on the crafts he enjoyed. 

Sunstorm began reminicizing on his life in Vos as he worked. He had been born to a pauper and carried to the temple as a cycle-old sparkling to be placed at Primus’s pedes. A servant who swept the steps to the temple took him into his family and Sunstorm spent most of his life there with his foster Sire. It was only natural, raised in a monument to Primus’s love, that he would love this divine Creator back. When his armor hardened and he had to choose a profession, his foster Sire went to the High Priest and appealed to him to take his sparkling on as a novice. To Sunstorm’s eternal delight and gratitude, the High Priest agreed and the Seeker became one of the priesthood.

He had climbed the ranks slowly. When other mechs were inviting mates and his fellow subordinate priests were having sparklings, he studied and prayed. He had hoped to be the High Priest some day and to lead Primus’s ceremonies.

That dream had ended when he was called to the High Priest’s chamber.

“Sunstorm.” The High Priest, a mech named Nightwish, was waiting, sitting at his low table. “Come in. I have something to tell you.”

“Of course, High Priest.” Sunstorm respectfully knelt before the table. There was a datapad with the seal of the Prime on it before Nightwish. “I live to serve Primus.”

“Primus agrees.” Nightwish picked up the datapad. “Our three premier citizens have been selected to go to Iacon to meet with the new Prime and participate in the courting rituals wherein he will select his Intended. Sunstorm, you have been selected to go.”

It was a shock. Of course, it wasn’t a bad one. It was a mere interruption in his selected occupation. He could spread Primus’s love in Iacon as well as in Vos and return when the new Prime refused the Seekers, as every other Prime had in the past. 

Of course, that hadn’t happened. Optimus had set his optics on Starscream and the Matrix had agreed. Now, he was a handmecha to the Prime’s Intended and would never return to Vos until he was released from that contract.

Sometimes, forks in one’s road were obstacles, but sometimes, they were blessings as well. Sunstorm hoped that this obstacle was a double-edged blessing. Evidence of Primus’s movements in the universe.


	25. Chapter 25

Rewind was practically trembling as he set his first pede-step into the Primal Palace. His little camera had been on constantly since Starscream had summoned him to the shuttle mech who served as Shockwave’s transport about the city. The great, purple and black mech, named Blast Off, was a gentle giant with a deep, soothing voice.

“Your first flight?” Blast Off questioned in his deep voice as Rewind stepped into the cargo bay. Chromedome wouldn’t be allowed to come with him at all times, unfortunately. 

“Yes.” Rewind answered cautiously. “Thank you for this. I- Well, I hadn’t thought about how I would keep up with the Intended in flight.”

“Fortunately, Senator Shockwave and Lord Megatron are detail-oriented mechs.” Blast Off replied, lifting off smoothly. “I will be gentle, but I suggest you take a seat.”

Rewind climbed up into one of the chairs that lined the shuttle mech’s interior. Blast Off was outfitted with luxurious internals, including repositories for energon goodies and even high grade. Rewind kept his servos to himself, his knees pressed primly together. He felt rather like a sparkling in the chair designed for much larger mechs. “At some point, I should get footage of the Intended and his handmecha in flight.”

“Of course. I have windows, as you can see, but I was thinking- for maximum quality- that when you filmed the Seekers, I would carry you.” Blast Off replied. “I have a firm grip, I would not drop you.”

Rewind felt queasy at the idea, but it was a thrilling queasy. “I would enjoy that, Blast Off. Thank you. It would be best to minimize the effects of glare and filtration.”

“I agree. I can keep up with the Seekers when they fly in formation, but the Intended flying alone… Starscream is the fastest thing to take to the air. I apologize if you had hoped for something more specific to Starscream.”

“The Seekers in formation should be enough, Blast Off, and I don’t imagine it would be too difficult to get Starscream to do some aerobatics for the camera. That would suffice for solo footage.” Rewind replied easily, still sitting still. He was highly conscious of the fact that he was sitting inside of someone else and didn’t know how to behave.

Fortunately, Blast Off noticed and took pity on him. “You can relax, Rewind. It isn’t uncomfortable if you move about and look at things. I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Rewind cautiously relaxed. “What does it feel like to have people inside of your cabin, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t. It feels heavy, and a bit ticklish, but not too much. If you ran about and kicked at my walls and chairs, it would be uncomfortable and I would have to magnetize you to the floor, but I doubt that will be a problem. You don’t seem the kind to throw a fit.” 

“Of course not.” Rewind agreed. “Not in any case, but especially not inside someone else.”

Blast Off chuckled. “The point is moot in any case. We have arrived. Brace yourself for landing.”

Rewind gripped the sides of his chair, but the landing was smooth as a cyberkitten’s fur and he stood up gently. “Thank you, Blast Off. It was enjoyable.”

“You’re welcome, Rewind. I will return for you when the Intended leaves.” Blast Off took off when Rewind disembarked and walked to where Starscream was waiting. Though the other Seekers had gone off to watch the guards train, the tricolor Seeker had waited for his archivist to catch up, resting in the shadow of a column.

“I’m ready.” Rewind told the Intended. “I’ll be hanging back behind yourself and the Prime, recording pretty much everything. If you wave me away, I’ll turn off my camera.”

“Thank you, Rewind. For obvious reasons, I don’t want you filming everything.” The Seeker spoke to the data stick in a quiet voice. “From now on, I will be speaking in Vosnian.”

“Agreed.” Rewind bobbed his head. He had been filled in on Starscream’s strategy regarding his home language and admired its simplicity and cleverness. It would not be his loose vocalizer that brought the Seeker’s façade crumbling down.

Starscream nodded and gestured into the palace. He led the way to where the guard was stationed. It was Ironhide, the Captian. The red van nodded to the Intended and led through the Palace to where Optimus was speaking with his major domo, Prowl, and his little mechservants- Bumblebee and Cliffjumper.

Starscream called a greeting in Vosnian and the Prime turned to return it. The Seeker took his offered arm and leaned on it gently. Bumblebee shyly looked up at the Seeker’s wings. Starscream had worn a more armor-fitted covering that barely qualified as morning garb. In addition, there was a magnetic strip of servobeaded fringe along the bottom edge of his wing. 

Prime turned back to Prowl. “See to it that the final deliveries come in on time, but be prepared to improvise. It’s no use attempting to squeeze energon out of variegate.”

Prowl made a few notes. “Agreed, Prime. I will leave you and your Intended for your walk through the garden.”

“Thank you, Prowl. Bumblebee, you’re dismissed.”

The little yellow Praxian bowed and hurried off as the Intended turned to Prime and made some comment, probably an observation on either of the two mechs. Prime commented back in Vosnian as well and then turned, gesturing to Rewind. 

Rewind imagined that later he would have to go over the footage with the Intended or Pharma and write subtitles. Already, he thought he had an idea of how it would go. Prime was obviously asking Starscream about Rewind’s presence. From the Intended’s chuckle and the proceding monologue as the pair moved off down the corridor, the Intended was giving him an abridged version peppered with amusing anecdotes. Prime made another comment that sounded vaguely teasing and Starscream preened at his helm’s decoration with his free hand. They both chuckled and continued to walk down the corridor and out into the garden.

Rewind stared about in awe. The moment he stepped into the exotic fairyland, he realized that he would have to consign most of this first day’s footage to his own gawking at the wonders all about him. Nothing could have prepared him for this kind of marvel.

The garden was alive with steam that clung to Rewind’s plating and dampened the cover Starscream had insisted on giving him to wear at the Palace. It wouldn’t do for the memory stick to be made fun of because he went about in his armor. The cover was too large for his size: A wrap that had been repurposed into a cloak for the tiny mech. The entirety of the Intended’s wardrobe, with the exception of the garments he had worn to the bathing party, had survived Whirl’s attack. The closet had been scorched, scratched, and otherwise ruined, but the covers and jewelwork inside had survived. 

Rewind’s camera only passed briefly over the Intended and Prime, though it lingered on a few moments between the two that would definitely be in the final recording. Most of the time, his optics were trained on the dense foliage, rich blossoms, and fluttering fauna. All about the defined path, there were cyberplants and energonblooms. Bright pink Mandevilla trailed along the branches of a Cyanza-covered tree. An electric blue domesticated Hrotica waved its vaguely glowing tendrils at the passersby. Glimmering crystal birds whistled through the air, their wings a blur of motion as they fed from the fat, red, horn-shaped vine flowers. The tiny blurs of color were all about. Rewind increased his camera speed to capture the tiniest detail as the birds flew. They would make an excellent transition.

With the Intended’s supposed “handicap,” Rewind was given both a blessing and a curse. He had to tell the story of their courtship through visuals. It meant that the soundtracks he would put it to became doubly important and how he shot it would be crucial. It also meant that he didn’t necessarily need to be close enough to the Intended and Prime to hear them speaking. Though that didn’t excuse him from filming them. He reminded himself sharply that he was supposed to be doing a job there and turned his attention back to the couple he was documenting. Fortunately, they hadn’t gone far and the little camera slipped up near them as they sat on a bench, talking. 

The Intended’s wings were flicking and fluttering as the Crystalbirds hummed about them. They seemed fascinated by the Seeker’s wings. Perhaps they knew a fellow child of the skies by some instinct. The Prime had the Seeker’s servo in his own and they were ignoring the little birds, helms close together and voices quiet. By some instinct, Rewind knew that if the Intended had seen him, he would have been waved away.

It was fortunate for posterity’s sake, then, that the Intended was thoroughly engrossed in Optimus and hadn’t noticed the data slug. The two mechs stopped speaking for a long moment and Rewind realized that he had caught the Prime with his facemask open. The matrix-bearer was handsome, with plush, seductive lips and a sharp nasal vent. There was a smile playing about his lipplates and his cheekplates were set high and centered. By direct contrast, Starscream’s lipplates were thin and looked soft. He might have seemed innocent, but for the side-cant of his smile and the clever sparkle in his optics. Rewind’s optics widened in surprise as they slowly leaned towards each other and their lips met in a tender kiss. Oh, this was definitely going into the final film. It might be the only true kiss he caught on video, what with the cadre of guards that usually followed both and the expectations of propriety. 

The kiss was chaste, but drawn out. When they finally separated, the Prime left his mask open for a few long moments as they smiled at each other. Primus had chosen his Prime’s Consort well: They were perfectly matched in looks and- from their optics and the easy intimacy- mentally and emotionally. They would be quite happy together, Rewind could tell.


	26. Chapter 26

Sunstreaker appeared at the Primal Palace after noontime energon. There was a hastily assembled bouquet of vining flowers that drooped towards the ground almost like a fabric in his servo and he was allowed in at once. The guards all knew him as the eccentric artist that Sentinel Prime had allowed almost free run of the Palace. Seeing him show up was nothing, though the fact that he was looking for a Seeker-“The golden one, Sunstorm!” as he described- was new, as was the fact that he was either there to apologize profusely for some error in communication or to open courtship with him. The flowers were kind of a give away.

Sunstreaker was pointed towards the Northeast wing, where Optimus Prime most often entertained the Seekers when the Intended didn’t feel like strolling through gardens. The bouquet was brandished like a sword before him as he stormed through the Northeast Wing, also called the Window Wing. 

The wing was practically made of polished windows with views of the outskirts of Iacon and the wilds beyond. Sunstreaker spared not a glance for the view as he searched for any and all Seekers. He burst into the Lotus Room as if a mech possessed… only to find a gathering of guardsmen including Sideswipe and Rodimus.

He paused at the door. “Sides? What’s going on?”

Sideswipe’s optics and lipplates were wide in surprise as he surveyed his brother. Turning to the rest of the room, he whispered something to Rodimus and stood up, guiding Sunstreaker out. “Let me talk to you about something, little brother…” His voice was pitched to carry back into the room as they walked down the corridor. When they were out of hearing range, he pulled Sunstreaker into a niche. “Sunstreaker, listen to me. I know you don’t have anything against the Seekers, but I need you to pretend that you do. That you have the biggest chip-on-the-shoulder grudge against Seekers of all time. Pretend that Sunstorm spited you, that Starscream forbade you to visit, anything!”

“But why, Sideswipe? What’s going on?” Sunstreaker hissed. “What was that?”

“An anti-Seeker meeting.”

Sunstreaker looked into Sideswipe’s optics and saw that he was telling the truth. “What?! Why are you at that kind of meeting?”

“I was invited. They’re testing out recruits for a whole cabal. They tapped me because we’re Praxians.” Sideswipe whispered. “Of course, I don’t hate the Seekers! I just… well, they’re annoying, but they don’t deserve this. The Intended was chosen by the Prime and the Matrix and that makes him Primus’s chosen.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m going to join. Then, I’m going to spy on them. I’ll go to Prime with this as soon as possible. Sunstreaker, you have to at least agree to keep it secret. Make it sound like you’re angry enough with Sunstorm to hurt the Intended.”

“Why haven’t you gone to Prowl, Sideswipe? This is really dangerous!”

“I can’t, Sunny. I think… Sunny, I think Prowl might be in on it.” 

Sunstreaker bristled. “No! Prowl is the guard Captain!”

“I know, Sunny. I don’t know who I can trust except Prime and the Intended with this.” Sideswipe’s optics lit up. “Sunny, Sunstorm is at Shockwave’s Mansion. You go to him, ask for an audience with the Intended. Tell him what I’ve told you. He’s a strategic mech. He’ll know what to do. I’ll tell them that you were looking for Sunstorm and that I’ll be able to spy on the Seekers through you. I’ll be a double agent.”

Sunstreaker felt a sick roil in his tanks. “Sides, that’s horribly dangerous!”

“I know, but it’s the right thing to do. Besides, it’ll be more fun than just doing drills over and over again or watching you paint.”

“How do you even know we need a double-agent?”

“I’ve been around long enough, Sunny, to know that where the petrorabbits feed, the turbofoxes lurk. There’s a sharkticon circling out there. I think the Intended and the Prime, the people I swore an oath to protect with my life, will want to know who it is.”

Sunstreaker nodded. “Sunstorm isn’t in the palace?”

“No, he never came this morning. If he’s somewhere, he’s at Shockwave’s Mansion.”

“Then I’ll go there.” Sunstreaker agreed. “Sides, be careful.”

“Of course. You too. You have to soothe an offended Seeker. Yours is the greater task.”

Sunstreaker chuckled. “Go back to your meeting.” He walked back along the corridor. “Good luck.”

“You too. Tell me if anything happens!” Sideswipe called. 

“Ours is a pure love, untainted by such physical cares.” Sunstreaker called back, teasing. Sideswipe pretended to purge hard.

 

Sideswipe returned to the meeting room and found Racemaster’s optics on him at once. “Sunny won’t tell anyone we’re meeting.” He assured them, taking his chair. “He has his own frustrations with Seekers.”

Racemaster gave him a cutting smile. “Why didn’t you invite him?”

“I did, but he’s more of a lover than a fighter.” Sideswipe chuckled. “Likes himself a pair of pretty wings in his berth.”

There was a chuckle from about the room and Rodimus turned back to Racemaster. “What about the Matrix, though? Didn’t it choose Starscream? Maybe Primus wants a Seeker in the Consort’s position.

That… was surprisingly open-minded coming from Rodimus. Sideswipe was almost shocked. Of course, Racemaster soon replied. “The new Prime is young, Rodimus, and Primus has never before favored the Seekers. Even the Functionists despise them, and they are the lowest in the Grand Taxonomy.”

One of the few non-Praxians nodded in agreement. He was an avid Functionist, Sideswipe knew, and had been quoting the Grand Taxonomy non-stop ever since the Prime chose Starscream. 

Racemaster whipped up some more bluster about being “knights in the service of Cybertron and Primus” and dismissed the meeting with a promise to meet again and an exchange of an anonymous comm frequency between Racemaster and the rest. The frequency was tested and they adjourned. 

Sideswipe didn’t head for the Prime’s office immediately. He held back and exchanged small talk, cracked a few crude jokes. He was sure that if he approached the Prime directly, he would be seen and it would make it back to Racemaster. He kept his digits crossed that Sunstreaker and Sunstorm would figure something out.

 

Sunstreaker reached Shockwave’s mansion after noontime energon. Starscream was still at the Primal Palace, but Sunstreaker was informed that Sunstorm was indeed there and the butler mech assured him that the Seeker would be able to see the famous artist. 

Sunstorm received him in one of the small libraries that was structured more for guests than for reading. In fact, the books were arranged for appeal to the eyes rather than in any order that would actually be useful. The golden Seeker was settled on a settee, legs curled under him and wings primly held. “Sunstreaker. I hope Primus smiles on you.”

“He does and he doesn’t. Sunstorm, I’m terribly sorry. I’ve been agonizing over our encounter and I realize what I did now. Can you ever forgive me?” Sunstreaker offered him the wilting bouquet. 

Sunstorm accepted the arrangement graciously. “I can and I do. It was not intended.”

“Let me make it up to you.” Sunstreaker knelt beside his settee. “I want to paint a new exhibition, focusing on Seekers this time, and I want you to be centerpiece to it.”

Sunstorm’s spark pulsed gently. “That’s very flattering, Sunstreaker, but I’m afraid I can’t accept. I am not free to pay court or receive it. My service to the Intended and to Cybertron, and through them, Primus, takes precedence.”

“Then let me help. Let me paint all of you! It can become a monument to the Seekers, beloved children of Primus and mechs of their own! I swear, you will see Primus’s love in every stroke of the brush, and so will all of Cybertron!” Sunstreaker begged, his pride aroused and his sense of spite urging him on. He gripped the Seeker’s servo. “Give me a chance, I beg you!”

Sunstorm considered for a moment. “If the Intended and Senator Shockwave agree, so do I.”

Sunstreaker swept the Seeker up in a sudden movement and pressed a hard kiss to his lipplates. “Thank you!”

Sunstorm collapsed, strutless, back on the settee and moaned softly. Sunstreaker was already out the door, living up to his name and speeding faster than the sun towards the Primal Palace to find the Intended. It seemed it would be a back-and-forth day for him.


	27. Chapter 27

Starscream, of course, thought Sunstreaker’s plan to paint an exhibition of Seekers was a brilliant idea and convinced Senator Shockwave to give the eccentric painter the run of the Mansion. The Praxian’s first project was Sunstorm in front of Iacon’s sunrise. Starscream decided this would also be a good time for Rewind to get in an interview with Sunstorm on the importance of religion in Vos. Conviently, this rid himself of his miniature hanger-on for a very uncomfortable conversation that he had to have with his Intended. Optimus had a free day for once, so it had to be then.

Starscream passed the red Praxian, Sunstreaker’s twin, as he was about to enter Optimus’s office. Sideswipe looked over at him as if he wanted to speak to the Seeker, but remembered their pseudo language barrier and merely bowed his head respectfully. Starscream nodded to him and approached the door to the office. The guardsmen who stood there- Ironhide and Prowl- let him through.

Optimus set down the datapad he was holding and rose to greet Starscream. “You’re a welcome face this morning.” He told the Seeker, moving around the desk to join him on a chaise lounge near the window. “I hoped I would be finished with this datawork before you arrived. It seems that we are in danger from within the Palace itself.”

“It was expected. That is why I have bodyguards.” Starscream sat on the lounge with Optimus. “What has happened specifically?”

“Apparently, someone has rounded up a retired Praxian racer named Racemaster, who’s in turn recruiting the members of my own Guard against you.” Optimus explained. “Sideswipe just reported it and has offered to be a double agent through his twin brother, Sunstreaker.”

“That’s excellent. Let’s see if we can bait in the big fish behind this ‘Racemaster.’” Starscream snorted. “What were his Creators thinking?”

“That was Sideswipe’s thoughts, though he used a Sharkticon metaphor.” Optimus agreed. “I think perhaps you should bring Thundercracker with you from now on.”

“I will consider it, but they would be fools to attack me in your company.” Starscream shook his helm. “I suppose they are fools if they want to attack me anyway, or insane.”

“They probably have strong, if mistaken convictions.” Optimus agreed. He looked across at Starscream as the Seeker leaned on the other arm of the lounge. “But I doubt this was what you wanted to talk to me about when you came in.”

“I wanted to broach what will be an unpleasant topic for both of us.” Starscream tapped the armrest. “And now that I’m here, I can’t find the words.”

“I see. Shall I ask yes or no questions?” Optimus teased lightly.

Starscream scoffed. “Oh, you.” He sighed, lips twitching into a smile. “I hope this works out.”

“Of course it will. Primus chose you, Starscream. It wasn’t just magnetism that made me pick you that night.”

Starscream smiled back. “I know, and… and it’s because you believe that that I feel comfortable enough to tell you this.”

“If this has something to do with the fact that you’re not sealed, I haven’t exactly been the most chaste person in my life either.” Optimus pointed out.

“It has something to do with that, but it has more to do with the means and method.” Starscream sighed and looked away. “I think I could use some heated energon.”

Optimus sighed and nodded. He pressed his comm. “Manners, bring heated energon to my office, thank you.”

The butler had the requested snack within ten klicks, a full service with sweeteners, energon chips, and oil cakes besides. To Starscream’s surprise, there was also a small bowl of sliced Piovilies, from the area around Vos. “Piovilies, Manners?” He spoke in Vosnian and Orion ran a translation between the two.

“Lady Windblade spoke to our Quartermaster, Intended, and pointed out that foods from Vos might be appreciated.” Manners made to pick up the bowl. “Do you not want it?”

“No, no, I was just surprised, Manners. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Intended, if you have any preference for anything else you’d enjoy…” Manners trailed off when he spotted coolant prickling in his optics. “Intended?”

Orion looked at Starscream and translated, covering the Seeker’s servo with his own. “Thank you, Manners, but there isn’t anything like this that I particularly prefer. I’ve never had any of it before. You may go.” Starscream dismissed the butler.

Optimus bent over him in concern. “Are you all right?”

Starscream picked up the trailing end of the sash and sarong that he was wearing and dried his optics. “I was just reminded that most mechs are decent at the spark, Optimus. That’s all.”

Optimus chuckled softly and slid close to the Seeker, pressing a kiss to his audial. “With that in mind, perhaps you should tell me what it is that’s bothering you so badly.”

Starscream nodded, rocking slightly, and picked up a delicate vessel of heated energon from the tray. Manners had poured the pink drink just before he had noticed Starscream’s tears. It was a play for time, Starscream realized it, but he needed time. “Pharma and I went to University together, I’ve told you.”

“Yes.” Optimus agreed. “You’re Aeriemates, so it isn’t surprising.”

“No, I guess it isn’t. Anyway, we were both on scholarship, but when we got here, we found out the scholarship just covered the tuition, and that just barely. No dorms and no energon to boot. We couldn’t get any help, didn’t want to ask for help from back home, and had to scrape together what little we had to get a low-class apartment. Thank Primus it had a private washracks or we’d really have been messed over.” He sipped his energon again.

Optimus put an arm around him and held him closer, seeming to sense what was coming. 

“We found jobs at an interface club, as dancers. Neither of us wanted to, but we became something of a double act. There were mechs who wanted us both to work in tandem for lap dances. It was… it was harrowing, but we told ourselves that all we were doing was dancing, that we enjoyed the music- and we did. Back then, I loved Electrobubblepop, though if you tell Skywarp I said that, I’ll kick your aft. We didn’t let them touch us, and I think they tipped better because we didn’t-said we were sassy- and what they thought was their own business.” Starscream bitterly sipped again, biting down on the vessel.

Optimus stroked a wing soothingly.

“It couldn’t end there. It never could. We were two Seekers, in Iacon, home of the blessed. Our professors hated us, the dean hated us, and the students hated us. We had to stick together tighter than glue because everyone else was against us.” Starscream set his vessel down on the table.

Optimus waited, sensing that there was more.

“Our Chemistry professor threatened to fail us both if we didn’t transfer to a different class. There wasn’t another class to transfer. We were both earning top marks, even from the professors who focused in on us unfairly. I did what I had to. For every lab my partner and I turned in and he graded fairly- top marks- as we deserved, I paid him by sucking him off.” Starscream could still taste the disgusting mech when he thought of it. “He wanted Pharma too, but I convinced him to leave my aeriemate out of it.”

Optimus was silent for a long moment. “That wasn’t the end, was it?”

“No, he must have told some of his friends. Almost every last one of my professors seemed to know that I was willing to pay in transfluid and lubricant for fair treatment. Pharma never found out, I made sure of that. I lost my seals to one of those glitches. Well, not really. I cut them out myself first- I didn’t want to give any of them more satisfaction than they already had, but you understand.” Starscream grabbed one of the Piovilies and chomped on it, feeling the segment liquidize beneath his crushing dentas. 

“I do.” Optimus quietly answered. “Oh, Starscream, I’m so sorry you had to live through that.”

Starscream sniffed. “It was so long ago. I don’t care anymore.” It was a lie and he feared it was an obvious one. He did care and it had been long ago, but he still felt it like it was yesterday. There was a reason he had never attached himself to another before. Optimus was his first and last serious relationship.

“What were their names?” Optimus mused. “Do you remember?”

“I remember.” Starscream bitterly bit into an energon chip and ground it as well. “I used to keep their names like a list. ‘These are the mechs I will fire someday.’ I told myself that and it made it bearable.”

“Why don’t you tell me them?” Optimus mildly agreed. “And I’ll give it to Ironhide or Prowl and tell them to examine them deeply. If they extorted sexual favors from one student, they will do it from another.”

Starscream was quiet. “I won’t have to testify, will I? You’re one thing: I didn’t want you seeing this in my spark and being surprised, but I can’t go before Cybertron and testify that I allowed myself to be abused.”

“Prowl will ensure that the cases are airtight without your testimony, Starscream, I assure you. Even if he is a potential traitor, he won’t refuse my request.”

“He’s only a traitor because I’m a Seeker. He has no problem with you.” Starscream agreed. “Though you might not want to mention that these mechs had me.”

“Of course not. That stays here in this chamber. I’ll make something up.” Optimus kissed his forehelm. “You offered yourself to me once, and I am glad I didn’t take you up on it. I don’t want to hurt you or make you feel so helpless again. If I ever do anything you’re uncomfortable with, promise you will tell me.”

“I promise.” Starscream agreed, then smirked. “And if you don’t listen, I think a kick to the crotchplates will straighten you out.”

“If you ever have to kick me in the crotchplates to get me to listen, then something has gone desperately wrong.” Optimus assured him. “I care for you, Starscream, and I want this to work out. I want you to be mine and me to be yours. That means that I will always listen to you.”

“Don’t make promises you know you can’t keep, Optimus. We’re going to fight, like all couples do, and the only difference will be that when we fight, the gossip rags will put it on the front cover.” Starscream admonished his betrothed.

“Then I promise to do my best to listen to you at all times.” Optimus kissed Starscream’s gunmetal lipplates gently, sealing it.

“I promise the same. I hope we will love each other deeply and for as long as we live, Optimus.”

“I hope the same.” He gently ran his digits down Starscream’s spinal strut. “Now, what is this next ceremony you’ve been teasing me about?”

“I can’t tell you, that would spoil the surprise, but it’s going to be held at Shockwave’s Mansion, so be sure to be there.” Starscream chuckled. “As if you have a choice.”

“No, I get the feeling that missing one of these events is not an option.” Optimus kissed the Seeker again. “Granted, though, that I would give anything to speed the time up. Why must it be such a long period before we can be together?”

“Because afterwards, the people of Iacon will have to do without their social leader for quite some time while we get to know each other.” Starscream explained. “And I intend to do a great deal of getting to know you.”

“As do I. I think it will be warranted.” Optimus kissed his forehelm. “Shall we go out to the garden or stay here and enjoy the heated energon?”

“I think we should stay here and relax until we are disturbed, and I think you should have some of these excellent Piovilies.” Starscream kissed him again. “They are delicious.”

“I think I should.” Optimus gently pulled the Seeker as close as he could and they enjoyed the rest of the morning alone.


	28. Chapter 28

Sunstreaker admired Sunstorm’s form against Iacon’s sunrise. The elegant golden Seeker took on a pink tinge across his plating as he reclined on the chaise on the balcony. Sunstorm was looking at Rewind, so his handsome features were in profile. 

Sunstreaker’s optics burned from staring into the sun as his servos moved swiftly, capturing the colors even as he refined details of his object of worship. If Primus were to take the form of a mech, it would surely be in Sunstorm.

Rewind was asking a question. “Exactly how important is religion to Vos?”

Sunstorm responded in that voice, which was somehow both musical and adoring, that Sunstreaker had learned to adore. “Rewind, the question of importance is a difficult one. Naturally, I wish that every Seeker would come to the temple of our Creator to offer their praises to the one who made us from his own frame, but such is not the case. Recently, we have seen our congregations double in size as the ordinary mechs come to hear Primus’s words. I wish I could attribute this entirely to our Priest’s oratory skill, but the truth is that Primus’s Grace works most when the populace suffers and of late, the suffering has been… well, doubled. The quotas have been raised on our industrial sections and hours are longer with little increase in pay. Furthermore, the age limit has been lowered once more and sparklings who have barely received their final armor are being accepted into the factories. As such, attendance in our temple schools has dropped. In all, there isn’t a mech who isn’t affected by the recent demands for more, more, more… and all of it must come from the hard-worn servos of Seekers, trapped away from their own domains in the skies by common necessity.”

“The Intended, Starscream, has spoken to me about the difference in wages between Vosnian Seekers and other factory workers from cities such as Praxus and Iacon. Would you care to comment?” Rewind answered, camera trained on Sunstorm. 

“I would. Functionism, a foul, warped interpretation of the words of the book of Adaptus, has so permeated Cybertron as to turn mechs against each other in the foulest of ways. By constructing a pyramid in which one’s place is determined by alt-mode, they have created a means of solidifying their place above everyone else and made cheap labor not only excused, but justified! They have put the seal of Primus upon myriad abuses inflicted by those with an “exalted” alt-mode on those with a “base” alt-mode. This philosophy, that we are divided by our very frames, has caused the exalted mechs of Praxus and Iacon to believe that mechs of Tarn, Kaon, and-yes- Vos are disposable. For this reason, we cannot fight for our wages as other mechs are allowed and when we do attempt to organize any sort of resistance to such ill treatment it is dismissed as the “corrupted” frames wishing for privileges above our station.” Sunstorm made a disgusted and disgruntled face and sat up straighter as his voice took on a heat born of righteous fury. “Does Primus snatch energon from the intakes of his children? Or is he so unkind as to meet devotion with the strikes of a cane? Does he not know when even a Cyberswallow falls from its nest or a turbofox whines with hunger? How much more, then, would he care for a Seeker, the child of his frame and the spark of his own?”

Rewind nodded as he recorded. Sunstorm’s impassioned devotion to Primus countered and complimented Starscream’s more pragmatic and even careless references to the Creator. It would have to be cut carefully, but he believed that their contradictory viewpoints could be reconciled and united.

Sunstreaker watched the Seeker adoringly until Sunstorm resettled and he could continue describing the play of rosy light over his shining armor and the wrap he wore about his waist- tied with a sash of Aura and embroidered with gemstones.

Sunstorm’s optics fell. “I would give the wealth of Iacon to abolish Functionism, to establish the truth, and to clean Primus’s words of this foul stain. If I could, with my own life’s blood, cleanse the face of Cybertron, I would, but I cannot. I can only speak into the winds and hope that Primus carries my words to the audials of those who would believe that their Creator is not merely the Creator of Convoys or Racers.” It was a sparkfelt, deep statement that would cut to the quick of any listener. Surely Unicron himself would be persuaded by such firmly held belief.

Rewind was quiet for a long moment, perhaps thinking of his next question. To fill the silence, he commented. “You must love your people dearly, Sunstorm.”

“I love all who call Primus Creator, Rewind. From the smallest data slug to the largest tank.”

“There are those who would say that since Primus fills needs for his children that he would design certain frames to be laborers and that it is right for such frames to be used for factory and mining labor. What do you say to that?”

“I defy anyone who looks on Primus’s words like that with anything but the utmost respect. When the book of Adaptus speaks of Primus “fulfilling the needs of his children” the original Primal Vernacular actually says. “Gives his children the tools required to fulfill their needs.” The closest interpretation of these original words is that Primus provides his children with the processors to find a way to gain what they need. If Primus provides for some of his children at the expense of others, the verse is meaningless. Ironically, this chapter of the book is the one that the Functionists base their claims upon. However, their biased interpretation gives rise to their ascension over the other frames. If a Seeker set out to establish Functionism, would he not place his own frametype above the others? I find it telling that it was a Convoy who set the Functionist Pyramid.”

“So, you believe that Six-of-Twelve decided to arrange the Grand Taxonomy specifically to benefit his own frametype?”

Sunstorm shrugged with his wings. “Only Primus knows the processor of a mech. Perhaps Six-of-Twelve genuinely believed that what he established was the truth of Primus, but if he were alive today, I doubt that he would set Convoys below any other frametype. It is a sad truth that we are born to divide ourselves by our looks and functions. Because of this, only by seeking our similarities, and setting our differences aside, can we achieve equality for all mechs.”

Sunstreaker found himself nodding as he traced out the fading rose over Sunstorm’s wings. When Rewind finally ended his interview, his spark was soaring with the euphoria of anticipated victory. How could anyone resist such well-spoken, such loving words?

“That was beautiful, Sunstorm. You speak like a lunangel.” Sunstreaker complimented the Seeker. “No one can doubt your devotion.”

“Thank you, Sunstreaker. Serving Primus is my life’s only goal.” Sunstorm sighed, relaxing in the chaise. Rewind faded to the background, though he kept his camera on. This interaction between a Seeker and a Praxian might be important to the finished production.

“Such devotion to our Creator.” Sunstreaker murmured. “He will reward you with happiness, surely.”

“I am happy, Sunstreaker. Primus has chosen a Seeker for his own avatar’s mate and I am to serve beside him. Is there a better place in the whole of Cybertron?” Sunstorm adjusted his sash, embroidered with symbols of devotion, and his wings fluttered in happiness.


	29. Chapter 29

Starscream landed in front of the Primal Palace alone. Unlike previous visits, it was unannounced and the guardsmen were confused by what to do with him. Finally, Ironhide came out personally. “Intended, what brings you here today?”

The Intended responded in Vosnian, as usual, and jabbered something at Ironhide. The red mech was plowed under by the flow of words and put his servos up. “Now, hold on. Ah can see you’re upset, but Ah can’t understand you.”

Sunstorm arrived, venting heavily, apparently he hadn’t been able to keep up. He spoke directly to Ironhide. “Is Pharma here? He was supposed to be back at Shockwave’s mansion a cycle ago and we can’t reach him.”

“Not that Ah know of. Ya’ll better come in and see the Prime.” Ironhide gestured them through into the Palace where it was cool. As he did so, he noticed his guards staring at the Seekers and sniggering. He soon realized that the two had appeared without their coverings.

Ironhide bristled and waited until the Intended and Sunstorm were out of sight. Starscream knew the way. “So, it’s funny that someone’s missing, is it?” He hissed at them. 

The guards shot to attention. “Sir, no, sir!”

“Good, that’s what Ah think to. And just because Ah think we should help those in need, you’re all assigned to scour the Palace and the grounds for Pharma! And don’t think of skimping either!” Ironhide ranted at them. “Extra training in the courtyard this evening! Don’t miss it!” The guards fled before the list could grow.

 

Pharma and Roller met entirely by chance at the concert hall where Senator Shockwave wished to hold the Intended’s next ball. Pharma had been surveying the location to make sure it was suitable for the gala and Roller was preparing for a concert. It was an entirely innocent happening that had resulted in Roller offering Pharma a tour of the backstage. The backstage, which was almost entirely deserted, where a great deal of preparations had been completed and where the musicians could rent what amounted to small bedrooms and suites where they could stay close. Roller and his crew shared a suite of rooms that included three bedrooms and a main practice room where Roller composed his new pieces when he was in Iacon.

“This is going to be my new Suite for the ballet.” Roller told Pharma, showing him the score. “I call it Scarlet.”

“Scarlet?” Pharma questioned, picking up the piece and looking at the anonymous array of notes. “Why Scarlet?”

“I envision it as a dramatic love story.” Roller admitted. “A mech and a femme who fall in love, but can’t be together because the femme is betrothed to another.”

“I see.” Pharma set the score down. “You’ve noted that the piece is for strings only.”

“I want to play with the subtleties of the stringed instruments without the winds. There are percussion elements, though.”

“And the xernochord.” Pharma murmured, reading more of Roller’s notes. 

“Of course. As a chorded instrument, I had to include my favorite.” Roller sat down at the instrument. “Perhaps I should play some for you.”

“Please.” Pharma murmured, sitting down on a stool to listen.

 

Optimus listened as Starscream told him everything he could. “… and now it’s the morning and Pharma still isn’t back!”

“I’m sure he’s fine and there’s a logical explanation, Starscream.” Prime assured his Intended with his deep, soothing voice. “Perhaps he had an accident and has been hospitalized. Or he might have spent the evening with friends and forgot the time. It happens.”

“It had better be a good explanation for this involving glitched-out comm systems and enough blackmail to last for vorns!” Starscream hissed. “And he had better be all right or I’m going to snuff him!”

“You will not snuff your aeriemate, you would feel terribly guilty.” Optimus gently told him, stroking his helm. “Where are your bodyguards?”

“Out looking for him.” Starscream hissed, wings rattling. 

Sunstorm stood back from the Intended’s display, admiring Prime. Not for the first or last time, he wished he had been chosen. Starscream could be so grating, but the Prime never lost his patience. He was a perfect Avatar for Primus.

Optimus stood. “We will find him, Starscream. He will be all right.”

“I hope you’re right.” Starscream sighed and leaned into him.

“All precautions will be taken, my Intended.”

 

Pharma found himself sitting on Roller’s lap, pressing kisses to his handsome lips. The large tank cradled him gently with a firm grip against his backstrut, right beneath his shivering wings. The Seeker’s whole body vibrated with the thrill of being this close to the handsome mech and feeling him caress the bottom of his down-turned wings. 

Suddenly, Pharma found himself lifted from his straddled position as Roller stood up.

Roller leaned Pharma against the Xernochord and pressed a deep kiss to him, glossa sliding over his lipplates. The Seeker medic opened his lipplates and accepted the intrusion, moaning into the kiss. Both were heated and oil was pooling in their seams, creating a fine sheen over Pharma that made him glisten.

 

Starscream paced Senator Shockwave’s Mansion, waiting for any news. The Prime had accompanied him back and was sitting on a sofa. “Starscream, you’ll wear a hole in the carpet if you keep this up.”

Starscream sighed and checked his chronometer again. It had been almost sixteen cycles since Pharma left. “I know, I just- I can’t stand the idea of anything happening to him.”

“I understand, Starscream, but standing there giving yourself a spark attack won’t help him.” Optimus patted the red and black sofa. “Sit down, take a load off.”

Starscream sighed and flopped down beside Optimus, curling up and huddling into the Convoy. Optimus put an arm around him. “I can’t stand this.”

“I know. You want to be out looking for him too, don’t you?” Optimus stroked his spinal strut. “But it wouldn’t be safe for you to leave the Palace. I’m sorry, Starscream.”

“I know, and it frustrates me.” Starscream chuffed deep in his vents. “I’m going to kill him.”

Optimus kissed his helm and didn’t argue.

 

Pharma moaned softly as Roller demonstrated his clever glossa against his sealed valve. The Seeker considered asking him to stop, but he was enjoying himself too much. 

Roller pressed a kiss to his valve and sighed deeply, lighting his sensory nodes on fire. Pharma groaned and pressed his servo to his mouth to stifle it. Roller’s chuckles were almost as good as his glossa as they drew out against him, making his lipplates vibrate against sensitive nodes. 

Pharma almost cried out when Roller lifted him with ease. “This would be best continued elsewhere, or my crew might discover us, Songbird.”

Pharma gasped, clutching his chassis. “Are we really doing this then?”

Roller pressed a kiss to his helm. “Yes, I think we are.”

 

Starscream leapt to his pedes when Pharma came in the door. “Pharma! Are you all right?” He surged to his aeriemate in a flurry of motion and checked him over thoroughly.

“I am well, Starscream. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I would be out so late last night.” Pharma was heated and his paint was freshly buffed and polished. Someone had taken a great deal of care with him.

“This had better involve enough blackmail material for years, Pharma, I was really worried.” Starscream sighed, shaking him by the arms. “And we’ve had half the city out looking for you.”

“I met Roller at the orchestra- by the way, Shockwave’s preperations are coming along splendidly- and we may have spent the night together... and had breakfast…” Pharma heated, his cheekplates turning cherry red.

Starscream’s jaw dropped open and he began sputtering. Optimus smiled and stood. “Well, now that we’ve found our missing Seeker, alive and well, I think I should return to the Palace.”

“Go ahead, Optimus. I’ll see you at the Kibuki play tomorrow.” Starscream nodded to the convoy mech. 

“I look forwards to it.” Optimus trailed a servo over Starscream’s wing. “I will see you.”

As he was leaving, Starscream had broken out into a rant about Pharma being an adult mech, but that he had also had comms installed for a reason. The convoy found himself smiling. The Seeker was going to be an incredible Carrier someday.


	30. Chapter 30

The day of the Kibuki play dawned with a glowing sunrise. Sunstreaker took a moment to finish Sunstorm’s portrait before he had to attend to following the preperations of the Seekers. Putting together a series of portraits meant a great deal of sketching and painting with the colors from memory. He liked to be able to see the colors as he worked, though, so he took every chance he could.

Sunstorm slipped up behind him, not wanting to disturb the artist as he worked on the clouds, the color of the sky. The Seeker held his vents as he watched Sunstorm put the final touches on a delicate ray of light. At last, the Praxian turned. “I know you’re there, Sunstorm, you can come out.”

Sunstorm stepped up beside him and they admired his work. “You’re a master, Sunstreaker.” Sunstorm marveled.

“The first of many pieces.” Sunstreaker nodded. “I think I’ll call this one ‘Golden Dawn over Iacon’. What do you think?”

“You flatter me, Sunstreaker.” Sunstorm sighed. “Primus guides your processor and servos to bring light and beauty into the world.”

Sunstreaker picked up his sketchpad. “I suppose the Intended sent you to fetch me?”

“The Intended hasn’t yet finished with his bathing.” Sunstorm answered, contemplating the view. “I came here merely to enjoy the sunrise before the bustle begins.”

Sunstreaker turned back to the sunrise himself. “If I could paint a thousand sunrises, I would never find two exactly the same.”

“Primus paints each one uniquely.” Sunstorm sighed. The two golden mechs stood side-by-side and watched as the light was pulled across the city, waking and stretching her wings, though there was some argument about whether or not she had ever gone to bed in the first place. 

 

Starscream and Pharma were painting each other’s faces when Sunstreaker arrived. Rewind’s camera was already rolling on the two Seekers. 

“We start the paint before everything else because it takes time to dry.” Pharma explained to Rewind as he pulled black lines around Starscream’s optics, making them pop. The Seeker’s gunmetal face had been painted with a layer of glowing silver, making him difficult to recognize. “And later on, when we’re arranging the tables and serving at the dinner, we can’t afford it slipping or cracking. It has to cure before then.”

“Will anyone else be wearing the make-up besides the Seekers?” Rewind questioned.

“After I’m finished with the Intended, I’m going to pay a visit to the other servers to paint their faces.” Pharma explained. “I would rather it be only Seekers serving, since we know our own ways, but that won’t be possible with such a large party, especially since the Intended is only to serve one of the tables.”

Rewind continued with his questions. “This is a very different custom from Iacon’s. Here, the hosts are supposed to remain seated and entertain the guests while servants serve them. The wedding party doesn’t have to do anything at all at these dinners except entertain guests.”

“In Vos,” Pharma explained. “The Matriarchs of wealthy families are expected to manage the household- like your housekeepers. Younger Carriers work more like maids, keeping the family home clean and neat. Houses like these would be multi-generational, though, so there would be many servos working all at once. Now, most homes are managed this way, with a clan taking over a single tenement and pitching all together. It isn’t uncommon for an entire neighborhood to be made up of a single, extended family.”

“What are the separate roles of Creator and Carrier in such homes?”

“Creators- patriarchs- go to work and bring in shanix to take care of the family. Carriers take care of sparklings and see to education for them.” Pharma sighed deeply and his expression became pensive and filled with pain. “Or at least, that’s how it should be.”

Sunstreaker’s servos began flying as he struggled to capture Pharma’s expression. Sunstorm’s optics were drawn to the flurry of movement and they glowed briefly in pleasure as he watched Sunstreaker work. 

“What do you mean?”

“In Vos, now, there is no way for a family to support itself on one Creator’s labor. The Carrier must also work and any sparklings old enough are employed as well.” Pharma’s lip trembled. “Some try to find better wages in Kaon, but the labor in the mines is psychologically impossible for a Seeker. The enclosed spaces cause paranoia and long hours away from the sun increase the symptoms of sky madness.”

“Are there many traditional ceremonies surrounding a bonding that have to be abandoned?”

“During Vos’s golden age, marriage ceremonies could take a week.” Pharma explained. “Of late, though, celebrations have been much more modest as most mechs can barely afford a single dinner. Now, the common Vosnian bonding is marked only by the night-long vigil followed by a simple celebration in the morning. There is a lot of singing, though, and dancing. And no matter how poor one is, a Seeker can always find a way to buy an oil cake to share with his bride.” 

Sunstreaker knew that last statement was spoken in defense, as if to state that even the poorest Seekers still have pride, but it would come across as spark-rending in any case, given the decadence that surrounded Iacon’s weddings.

Pharma painted Starscream’s lipplates a lustrous red in silence while Rewind watched with care before choosing his next question. “Were Kibuki plays often a part of Vosnian courtship?”

“To a point, they still are. Little ones like to paint themselves with whatever they can mash up into paste and pretend to be famous actors.” Pharma smiled softly. “Yes. Kibuki plays used to be the number one go-to event for young lovers and those who could afford to often put them on as part of the wedding celebration.”

“What stories do Kibuki plays generally portray?”

“Love stories and ghost stories are the most popular. Our story tonight, though, is a little different from the norm…” Pharma explained in detail as Rewind made sure to flag the footage to use as a voiceover of the performance. Since Kibuki plays were silent except for soft music- which Roller and Amp would be providing- it would be a perfect opportunity to cut down on the final length of the video by combining two necessary pieces.

Sunstreaker finished his sketch of the two Seekers and turned to Sunstorm, taking a covert sketch of the Seeker applying his base coat- the same shade of silver that the Intended was wearing. He decided to make the paint the same color he would use for the mirror Sunstorm was looking into and emphasize the black of his helm for contrast.

Sunstorm glimpsed his attention in said mirror and his cheekplates heated when he realized what Sunstreaker was doing. His optics broke their gaze and his smile became soft as he continued to apply his paints. 

Starscream and Pharma teeked the change in Sunstorm’s EM field and their attention was momentarily distracted as Pharma continued to ramble on the story they were portraying- one of the few modern Kibuki plays written, and by modern they meant in the past thousand vorns: There wasn’t a lot of time for culture recently in Vos and they wanted to be able to brush off any complaints about the subject matter being a little too fitting for the situation. 

The aeriemates looked at the would-be lovers and exchanged glances. It seemed all three of the premier citizens had found love in Iacon.


	31. Chapter 31

Chromia moved in the shadows of the Science Academy. It was made of expansive halls, trimmed in chrome and neat. There were hangings with the images of the teachers and instructors all about.

The Camien delegation’s headquarters were right beside the Science Academy, and Chromia was proud of her curiosity and of how far she would go in service of Caminus and Windblade, her best friend. 

If the Prime was being deceived by his own Intended, it was her job to find out and expose it. The Matrix wouldn’t choose an unworthy mate for its holder.

Her contact was waiting for her in the shadows of the columnade. 

“Chromia?” Windblade questioned, seeming to appear out of nowhere. “What are you doing here? We’re supposed to be getting ready for the Intended’s gathering.”

“Windblade!” Chromia whirled. “Don’t surprise me like that.”

“I never thought I would find you prowling a University. Did you meet a student?” The innocent red flyer questioned.

Chromia hissed. “No, Windblade, it isn’t like that!” She looked around. Her contact had disappeared. “Let’s just get back to the Ambassador’s Mansion and get ready. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Chromia, I’m worried about you.” Windblade told her friend as they started off. “Ever since the Selection Ball, you’ve been odd. Sneaking about, meeting people. I know Iacon is very different from Caminus, but what are you doing?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Windblade.” Chromia assured her. “I’m just a bit nervous about the evening, that’s all. And perhaps questioning Primus’s wisdom.”

“What do you mean?” Windblade questioned, looking up at her friend. 

“It’s bad enough that he chose a Dockworker with no prior experience in the temples or government, but then he mated his new Prime to a Seeker… and one who can’t speak Common Iacon at that. It’s ridiculous.”

“Perhaps it’s time for change, and they are going to be the architects.” Windblade put forth.

“Change rarely means good things.” Chromia grumbled.

“Change is a double-edged sword, yes, but as a species, we always need to change and grow.” The little red flyer’s wings were flicking. It was less exaggerated than a Seeker’s ridiculously responsive wings, but she could still see it whenever the femme was emotional.

“So, you’re okay with this?”

“I don’t see the problem you do, I suppose.” Windblade replied. “I’ve been reading about Vos and Seekers, and they’re interesting.”

“Interesting doesn’t mean fit to rule.”

“But Starscream seems very intelligent. I don’t doubt that he’s learning Common Iacon and merely doesn’t want to embarrass himself with a new language before he’s ready.” Windblade argued. “And he seems very sweet. His aeriemate, Pharma, is certainly cute.”

Chromia humphed. “You and ‘cute.’”

“There’s nothing wrong with people being cute.”

“No, but people who are cute are annoying.”

“Do you think I’m annoying? I’m cute.”

“Well, you certainly are irritating.” Chromia smiled at her friend. “Now, that Ironhide, he’s a mech.”

“He might be there as part of the security team.” Windblade smirked. “You could talk to him while we’re there.”

“I might have to. He’s a good fighter. I want to challenge him to spar, but I think he’d probably refuse because I’m supposed to be a lady.” Chromia snorted.

“Don’t jump to conclusions too quickly, Chromia.” Windblade chided. “He sparred the Intended.”

“The Intended? No way, Starscream’s always seemed a little too fussy for sparring.”

“It’s true.” Windblade assured her. “That bodyguard that’s always showing off- his name is Rodimus, I think- told me that he beat him too.”

Chromia laughed. “Isn’t that the same guard who said the palace was about a mile high? He’s prone to exaggeration.”

“I don’t think he was exaggerating this.” Windblade reflected. “He seemed too sober, too calm about it.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. A good sparring match doesn’t make him a good Consort.” Chromia snorted. “I won’t accept him until he proves himself worthy.”

“Then you should give him a chance to do so.”

“Hmph.”

“Chromia, I’ve noticed you’ve been acting oddly ever since the Selection. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’ve been doing some work on a project, that’s all.” 

“Chromia… do you trust Elita-One?”

“I don’t see a reason not to trust her.” Chromia hedged. 

“She makes me nervous. She wants things, Chromia, and I don’t think she’ll stop at anything to get them.” Windblade reminded her friend.

“You just described every person on Cybertron, Windblade.”

“But not every person will break the law, and I think that’s just what Elita’s doing.” Windblade worried. “I’ve overheard her talking to the Intended when Pharma isn’t there and it’s some very mean things, even threatening.”

“She’s just blowing off steam. You can’t blame her for being mad that Primus chose him.”

“But that’s exactly it, Chromia, Primus chose Starscream. Primus. Not Optimus. Not the Matrix. Primus himself. He wants Starscream to be the Consort and we must bow to that will. It’s greater than our own.”

“How do you know? What if there was a mistake, like the Council secretly claims, or if Optimus was manipulated?”

“Because I have to trust Primus’s avatar and know that he wouldn’t allow him to be manipulated so.”

“Again, how do you know?”

“I just do, Chromia. Trust me.”

Chromia sighed as she rolled into the Mansion grounds. “You’re frustrating, Windblade.”

“I know.”

 

Quark crept back into the shadows when he saw Chromia and Windblade together. The microscope didn’t want to be seen meeting with Windblade or be remembered when the story inevitably hit the tabloids. Who would want to be remembered as the person who exposed the Prime’s Intended to scandal? He was just slipping away when a servo fell on his shoulder.

Obsidian loomed over the small microscope as he quailed, shaking. 

“What do you want?” Quark squeaked. 

“I want the information you were going to give Chromia.” Obsidian bent close and smiled. “We’re willing to pay double.”

Quark’s optics bugged. “Really? Well, come to my office then and lets talk terms. We are understood, right, that no one mentions my name when these pictures hit the papers?”

“Of course, Quark.” Obsidian rumbled. “If they are as incriminating as you say they are, there is no need to fear. You will be protected and rewarded handsomely.

“Naturally.” Quark agreed aimiably. “Some nerve that Seeker has. Coming back here and thinking no one would remember him.”

“Shocking.” Obsidian agreed. “Fortunately, there are those who remember him very well.”

“Indeed. Very, very well.” Quark assured him and they disappeared into his office together.

 

Optimus spoke to Bumblebee and Cliffjumper as they helped him prepare for the evening. “Bumblebee, are you all right?”

Bumblebee was shaking as he handed Optimus the polishing applicator. “I’m excited, Prime, I’ve never gotten to go to an actual event before.”

“It will probably be boring.” Prime cautioned him. “And you won’t be able to sit at the actual dinner, but the Kibuki Play will be visible to the servants as well. I thought you would enjoy it.”

Bumblebee nodded, smiling. “I can’t wait! I’m going to see the Seekers close up in all their make-up! I’ve heard they’re beautiful. You’re going to have great sport with Starscream!”

Optimus jumped and turned. “If that is a thought of your own, I’ll become a Priest! Who said such a thing to you?”

“One of the guardsmen was talking about it in the Servant’s hall.” Bumblebee blinked. “I thought he had to be correct because I know Starscream is good at sparring. But what sport? Shockball?”

Optimus sighed and patted Bumblebee’s helm. “Innocence is at once a humorous and horrifying thing.”

Bumblebee shrugged and shined Optimus’s epaulet before he clipped it onto the Prime’s shoulder kibble where it shone softly in the light. “All right.”

Optimus chuckled and finished his polishing. He stood up and Cliffjumper corrected the fall of his dark red cape. “Well, am I acceptable, mechs?”

“Perfect.” Bumblebee assured him.

“Very well. Let’s go then.” Optimus swept out with the two small Praxians on his tail.

 

Starscream was in his element, managing the chaos of preparing a true Vosnian meal with ease.

“Less of that Hotroot, we don’t want to kill them.” The Intended ordered one of the chefs, a Vosnian who was standing over a cauldron of enerwheat noodles, doing the boiling before they were stir-fryed. Starscream was there working with them while Rewind documented. Megatron had ordered in his best cooks from among his forces and they were preparing a genuine Vosnian meal. 

Starscream grabbed a pinch of dough for Longevity Peaches. “More salt.”

“Yes, Intended.” The Seeker nodded, grabbing the container of Sodium.

Starscream moved along, making adjustments where necessary and keeping in mind the varying tastes of mechs from Iacon. 

“Fry the dough a little longer before sugaring it. Be careful so it won’t be too chewy.” He warned a different cook.

“Star, stop ordering the world and eat something.” Pharma reminded him. “We won’t get anything else until after the play ends.”

Starscream hurried to his aeriemate and the other ‘players’ for the evening. All of their base makeup had sealed and perfected in the light and they were free to eat a simple meal before they were expected to perform. After the evening was over, they would feast on the leftovers from the fine meal.


	32. Chapter 32

Optimus and his entourage entered Senator Shockwave’s Mansion through the front door. Shockwave and Lord Megatron were waiting for them in the atrium. Bumblebee and Cliffjumper stared about, in awe. Optimus had to admit that he was very impressed. Floral arrangements were everywhere, decorating a path through the mansion and to the courtyard where a stage had been constructed.

The Seekers were arrayed in Vosnian finery, heavy brocades woven with patterns, designed to stand up to the wear and tear of flying. After a moment, Optimus picked out Starscream from them. All of their faces had been painted over with moonshine silver and red for the lips. Pink, purple, and blue flares out from their optics, which had been lined in coal. There was something almost painfully beautiful about the six of them. Even the three bodyguard Seekers had been dressed up that evening.

“Hello, Starscream.” Optimus addressed him in his preferred language. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

“Flatterer.” Starscream smiled. “This isn’t even my costume, though I’m afraid you’ll be seeing me in much simpler fare as well. When we’re serving, we’ll be in plain linen.”

“You look so much better in just your armor, Starscream. It’s ridiculous to dress you up at all.” Optimus took his arm. 

“Same to you, you mud-covered ground-pounder.” Starscream’s wings fluttered affectionately. “Come on, just follow the trail of flower garlands. Shockwave ordered my favorites: Camellia, Stargazer Lily, and Ranunculus. There are also roses and waterlilies for the stage.” 

“It’s beautiful.” Optimus reached out to one of the arrangements and plucked out a small, yellow Ranunculus. He threaded it into a loop worked into the Seeker’s sash. “I never got to see so many flowers as a Dockworker.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have been able to afford them.” Starscream smiled wistfully. “I used to fly outside of the city every morning to pick a wild flower. Just one. Every day. I told myself that I was rich because I had flowers every day, and on the last day of the decacycle, I would pick myself a nosegay and wear it on my wrist, like a mech had given it to me.”

“You didn’t have any mech friends?” Optimus noticed Rewind filming. The little recorder gave him a wave and kept his blinking red light on Starscream and the procession of Seekers and Optimus’s entourage.

“I think you know the answer to that question.” Starscream curled a lipplate in disgust. An unattractive expression Rewind was sure to edit out. Fortunately, Pharma didn’t notice. Prime mentally reminded himself that Starscream’s University life was a secret he kept from his aeriemate jealously.

He turned the conversation to the differing kinds of wildflowers found around Iacon and they had a rather pleasant banter on the virtues of wild roses versus Vining Glory.

When they reached the courtyard, Optimus had to stop and stare for a long moment. It had been transformed from a nearly-dead outdoor garden to a fantasy world. The tree that Shockwave kept out of sentimentality had torn into the cobbles, it’s roots and trunk dominated a corner and the branches spread almost as high as the mansion itself. The stage had been built up around it and was covered by a heavy velvet curtain hung from several main branches that overhung that area of the courtyard. Most of the ground was covered in chairs, which had been decorated with yet more flowers hanging from the backs and a program providing an explanation of the plot and a brief history of the importance of Kibuki plays in Vosnian culture had been pinned to each arrangement.

But it wasn’t until one’s optics turned upwards to the beautiful display above that one truly appreciated the magnitude of it. In the dying light, Optimus swore the tree was covered in oddly shaped fruits and hung with banners with Vosnian symbols on them. As the light faded from the sky, the “fruits” seemed to glow and to brighten until it was obvious that they were lanterns. Lanterns hung from every branch: Simple things, of paper and a single light inside. Lanterns of every color, with symbols and glyphs painted on them. Too many blessings and prayers to read. Some of them had tassles of gold hanging down from them. As Optimus stared, he saw that there were great ropes and loopes of fireworks as well: hanging like bunches of corks or cigarras. There was probably a single fuse somewhere and the fireworks were designed for the finale of the Kibuki. Long strings of folded paper, Sunstorm’s idea, with each piece of interlocking paper printed with a blessing, prayer, or passage from the Primal Text were hanging among the lanterns and banners. Optimus wondered if they would catch fire when the fireworks were set off. Looking up at the strong, old tree, he noticed that in spite of the fact that it didn’t have any leaves, it was very much alive and its bark was waxy, smooth, and vibrantly pink and green. Perhaps this kind of tree didn’t have leaves, but processed energy in its bark. Either way, it wasn’t likely to be harmed by stray sparks from the fireworks.

Starscream smiled as well, looking up. “It took a great deal of work, but it is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Optimus breathed, stepping further into the aisle between the rows of seats to continue his staring. “Primus… You had better have something very special planned for this play, or I’m going to be staring up the whole time.”

“Oh, I’ll find a way to keep your attention.” Starscream smirked, purring his engines.

Optimus shook his helm at him and shushed him. 

Roller and Amp began playing suddenly. The two mechs were settled in what amounted to a concert nook in a corner of the courtyard beside the stage. Kaon was playing a flute, carved from eider and inlaid with aura, and Roller played his beloved Xernochord.

“About thirty minutes until we begin performing.” Starscream sighed. “Three hours of performance, six acts, about an hour over dinner, then an hour to dance and socialize. You know, there should be a pill for boredom.”

Optimus chuckled, placing a servo on the small of the Seeker’s back and stroking the plating there through the heavy sashes tied about the slim flyer. “At least we’ll be suffering together.”

“Yes. And we can insult the other guests right to their faces and they won’t know a thing about what we’re saying, so long as we smile and nod.” Starscream’s wings twitched in pleasure at the idea.

“You are absolutely wicked, you know that?” Optimus sighed, smiling at his unrepentant Seeker.

“I have been informed. Come on, Elita One and her group are expected to arrive soon. I have some choice phrases I can’t wait to use on that femme.”

“Of course. What shall I translate?”

“Make sure to thank her for her kind words and her hospitable treatment at Lady Windblade’s bathing party.” Starscream told Optimus.

“I take it what I am thanking her for is something rather more unpleasant.”

“Oh, yes.” Starscream smirked. “But I will have my triumph, Optimus, worry not.”

“I think you already have it.” Optimus tapped his windshield above the Matrix.

Starscream rolled his optics and sighed. “Let’s just go and see our opponents.”

Optimus chuckled and they walked back out of the stage area and into the foyer. Windblade and the Camien delegation had arrived, painted in full ceremonial colors. Chromia seemed oddly angry or frustrated. Perhaps something had happened to what she had intended to wear and she was forced to wear something else. 

“Intended Starscream!” Windblade gave the Seeker a wide smile. “How are you this evening?”

Optimus turned to Starscream. “I see why you don’t like her. She is rather bubbly.”

“She’s all right, I suppose, just a little bit silly.” Starscream replied. “Tell the vapid little snipe I’m well.”

Optimus smiled at Windblade from behind his mask. “We are well, thank you. And yourself?”

“We have had a lovely day. It’s been a long decacycle looking forwards to this evening’s performance.” Windblade looked down the corridor. “May we have a peek at the sets or should we wait?”

Starscream chuckled when Optimus pretended to translate. “Absolutely not. Not even Lord Megatron has had a peek at the sets yet.”

Optimus chuckled and turned to Windblade. “The sets have been kept under wraps, I’m afraid, Lady Windblade, but the courtyard is open and a sight in and of itself.”

One of Shockwave’s servants walked past with a tray of cocktails and offered it to them. “Pink Femmes?”

“Thank you.” Windblade and Starscream each accepted one of the rosy drinks while Optimus declined.

“I’m not going to have too much of this.” Starscream told Optimus. “I’m not expected to sing in a Kibuki play, fortunately, but engex makes my vocalizer act up. The last thing I want is for it to short.”

“Of course.” Optimus agreed. He turned to Windblade. “We must continue to greet the guests for the evening, my Lady.”

“Of course! Don’t let me keep you.” Windblade and Chromia walked off into the courtyard to find their seats. Officially, it was first come first serve. However, Optimus would like to see the delegate who would dare attempt to claim the front row, which was unofficially and clearly for the Prime and his entourage.

Senator Mirage approached them next. He had a hostess gift, a bottle of some fine, bubbly high grade distilled from piovillies. Starscream thanked him through Optimus and handed the engex to a servant to take away. 

“I don’t trust him.” Starscream confided in the convoy. “Something about him seems odd.”

“He’s a politician looking to keep his seat in what appears to be a changing time for the Senate.” Optimus sipped his own, plain energon. “Other than that, I can’t say I see anything nefarious in him.”

“Not nefarious. I don’t think he has enough spine to try and hurt one of us, but there is something oily and odd. I might have to look into him when I have a spare moment.”

Optimus wished he could kiss Starscream’s helm. The moment they were bonded, he was going to lavish affection on the Seeker, freely and in public. “My wary little Seeker.”

Starscream huffed. “This wary little Seeker will tear your aerials off, if you keep making fun of him.” He shot a smile up at the Prime and purred.

“Whenever you speak to me, I get mixed messages.” Optimus teased him.

“I’m a complicated mech, Optimus. You knew that when you chose me.”

Optimus was about to respond when Elita One, heedless of the fact that the couple was having a moment, barged in on them. “Intended, Prime.” She curtsied politely. Starscream’s smile became fixed and Optimus’s eyes crinkled in disappointment at the interruption.

Starscream smiled sweetly and replied. “Why you two-timing scrap heap. I hope you get slagged, you stupid fuschia bitch.”

Optimus almost laughed. “Lady Elita. Starscream says hello and hopes you will enjoy tonight’s events.”

Elita gave Starscream a smugly superior smile. “Of course. I can only imagine it will be spectacular for all involved.”

Optimus turned to Starscream. “She isn’t pushing it at all, is she?”

“I almost wish she could understand Vosnian, so she could see what an idiot she looks like.” Starscream replied. Then, he turned back to Elita. “Framist swine, I hope you get butchered out for the energon in your lines. I’d offer a curse for your children, but they already have you.”

Optimus chuckled and turned to Elita himself. “Tonight’s performance promises to be something that Iacon has never seen before. Starscream hopes that all involved will learn something from it.”

“Of course. I look forwards to it. Will it be very comic? It’s just that I find plays without sound so funny sometimes, and I don’t want to offend.”

Optimus rolled his optics as he turned to Starscream. “Well, that was a rather obvious dig.”

“She is no subtle mistress, certainly.” Starscream nodded, turning to the pink Carcerian. “It’s no wonder you find such subtle, fine arts comic since you can’t seem to understand the difference between being overdressed and fashionable. As it stands, I won’t even bother to explain the beauty of the Kibuki play, since I am certain that would be tantamount to throwing Rust Pearls into the scrap heap.”

Optimus turned back to Elita. “Starscream doesn’t want to ruin any surprises in the play this evening.” 

A bell rang and the Seeker turned his helm. “I must go. It’s time for me to put on my make-up.”

“Aren’t you wearing it?” Optimus questioned.

“I can explain later. Make my good-byes.” Starscream pressed a kiss to his servo and bustled off with one last dig at Elita. “See you on stage, try not to trip on the cobbles!”

Optimus nodded, watching him go. “The Seekers are going to make final preperations for the performance. He also offers a warning to be careful in the courtyards. Some of the cobbles are treacherous.”

“I’ll have to thank him. And you, Prime, how are you?” Optimus noted that Elita’s robes were particularly ornate and her headdress was crested and spiked. Starscream’s jab about her fashion sense came back to him.

“I am well.” Optimus edged backwards as Elita stepped into his personal space, attempting to stand at his side and close to his arm, as Starscream often did. “Looking forwards to the end of the period. It’s hard to believe it’s only been thirty cycles.”

“Of course. I can’t imagine how frustrating it must be.”

“We manage.” Optimus stepped away again. “As I recall, your own celebration is scheduled next? I received an invitation this morning.”

She was truly shameless, stepping close to him again. “Of course. I have plans for a taste of my own culture. I think the Intended will appreciate it. I have heard of his skill in Martial Arts and his simple tastes.”

“Martial Arts? Is this to be a display or a tournament?”

“A tournament, I think, would be the best way to describe it. A few hours of martial games with prizes, of course. All good fun.”

That sounded like a frighteningly good place to get rid of a rival and stage it as an accident. Optimus nodded dubiously. “Of course. Good fun.” He extricated himself from the femme and walked over to Megatron.

Megatron was sipping a strong drink, Soundwave at his side. The silent cassette player was wrapped in a silver shawl that covered his front and a small headpiece over his faceplate. The large warlord had a purple cloak and mantle around his shoulders with a gold trim. He seemed uncomfortable in the fine cloak and stood like a statue. He had an undeniable, silent charisma that still made Orion Pax’s spark pulse, though he was calming down, becoming used to him. 

“It looks to be a spectacular evening.” Megatron commented, optics roving.

Optimus nodded. “Lord Megatron, I just finished speaking with Elita One.”

Megatron’s lipplates twisted. “Indeed. We received her invitations earlier today.”

“As did I. Are you aware it is to be some sort of tournament? Involving Martial Arts?”

Megatron took a long moment to think on that. “You suspect she may attempt to stage an accident.”

“It’s what I would do in her place.” Optimus pressed his lipplates together.

“You think she intends to kill Starscream, forcing a second Selection, and a renewal of this circus.” 

“Yes.” Optimus folded his arms. 

“Then we need to take precautions. Thank you, Optimus.” Megatron nodded. “Starscream will be protected and prepared.”

“That’s all I can ask of you. Thank you, Lord Megatron.”

“Of course, Optimus Prime.” A second set of bells chimed and Shockwave clapped his servos. 

“Shall we make our way to the theater?” Shockwave called. “The performance will begin soon.”

The guests and entourage made their way out to the courtyard. Windblade, Chromia, and her entourage were there. 

Bumblebee and Cliffjumper were in an agony of excitement as they took two seats at the end of the front row. Their optics were innocently staring up at the lanterns and fireworks. In the full dark, they were a blaze of beauty and light, illuminating the whole courtyard brightly enough to see detail. There were lights on the edges of the stage as well, pointed towards the curtain and Optimus noticed that a set of spotlights had been placed on a balcony overlooking the courtyard. The stage would be well lit. 

Prowl, his mate Jazz, and Ironhide sat down beside Optimus and Senator Shockwave took his other side. Lord Megatron and Soundwave sat next to the Senator. 

When the whole party was arrayed, the velvet drape began to split in two and be pulled aside by the invisible workings of a clever pair of servos: Drift’s. Another young Decepticon, a rare Praxian in the crowd of Kaon and Tarnian mechs. The excitable little mech had leapt at the chance to work on what he called “theater work.” Of course, Chromedome was delighted to be allowed to work the spotlights, focusing on the center of the stage where the actors would be stationed. Rewind was up there with him, camera trained on the stage, taking footage. 

“Is it everything you wished for?” Chromedome questioned the small mech.

Rewind turned his head for a moment to give him a happy look. “It’s more!”


	33. Chapter 33

The pre-recorded voice of Pharma gave the impression of a narrator right beside Rewind. “The Matchmaker is an atypical Kibuki play. Unlike most, it is a play in six acts instead of three and its cast of characters is unusually small. As such, our small party can play it without much difficulty. The Intended has been cast as the title character, of course, and as the Princess. The two characters do not share any scenes, except for the last. Thundercracker has been cast as the Prince and Skywarp and Metalhawk will be playing various supporting roles. Metalhawk has been placed as the Matchmaker’s mate as well. I have been given the role of one of the Matchmaker’s rivals, as has Sunstorm, and Metalhawk and Skywarp will be pitching in there as well.”

Rewind kept his camera scrupulously on the stage and the people below. He zoomed in on the area where he knew the Seekers would be standing when the curtain rose. Pharma’s voice over began playing in his helm, combining with the recording. The little memory stick was in the zone, taking video and editing at the same time. This was what he loved.

The curtain rose, revealing the Intended’s brother-in-law, Thundercracker, sitting on an ornate chair. He had been robed in dark blue and gold, costuming from the Vosnian Operahouse that still catered to wealthy visitors to Vos. All of the costuming, many of the props, and even some setwork for the Matchmaker had been sent up at Starscream’s request. The throne was one of them, a piece designed and rendered when Vos was still wealthy and free. It was an antique, priceless perhaps for its age alone.

Thundercracker stood from his throne and exaggeratedly clapped his hands. Skywarp and Metalhawk, dressed in simple black sashes, rushed out carrying loads of scrolls and the Seekers began conferring with sign language and balletic actions. Each one had several symbols painted onto their base make-up, indicating what character they were, how important they were to the play, and even whether they were a hero or villain.

Meanwhile, Pharma’s voice played in Rewind’s processor. “The Matchmaker’s first Act begins with the Prince of Vos complaining to his advisers how very bored he is. Of course, Quian-played by Skywarp- suggests that they go to war, but Yew-played by Metalhawk- suggests that he should be married instead.”

Metalhawk and Skywarp were leaping about now, in the throws of a physical argument as they waved scrolls at each other and grabbed each other’s headdresses, throwing them down on the ground and stomping them, picking them up, dusting them off, only for them to be knocked down again. It was rather funny and the audience was soon in stitches at the slap-stick comedy. Rewind had to suppress his own giggles at the spectacle. When Metalhawk chucked a scroll at Skywarp, conking him on the head, the purple Seeker went down like a sack of grain. Metalhawk stomped his pede satisfactorily.

Then, he turned to the Prince and began making motions in the air, reminiscent of a slender frame. “When Yew defeats Quian, he begins to describe all the reasons to marry rather than go to war. During this sequence, the Prince and his Advisor begin to describe the perfect Princess, a mechs whose beauty is unattainable.” Thundercracker stood from his throne, facing one corner of the stage as Yew began his descriptive motions. “…A wide, strong pair of wings…” Yew parted his servos as if running them over a set of the appendages in front of him. A spot in the corner of the stage began to illuminate as Chromedome moved over to a different spotlight, slowly turning its brightness up, casting the silhouette of a Seeker. “…A slender, aerodynamic frame…” The gesture Metalhawk used to describe this was a sweeping downwards one, curving his servos inwards and outwards. “…A faceplate like a lunangel’s…” He cupped his servos beneath his chin and tipped his helm to the side, batting his lashes. “…And hips wide enough to hold onto, but slim enough not to ruin the silhouette.” The gesture used was both obscene and appropriate and wrung some surprised chuckles from the audience. In the meantime, the illuminated spot had come up to half-brightness, revealing the vague silhouette and colors of Starscream in one of his costumes as the Princess. Slowly, the light dulled again and the perfect Princess disappeared from view. Metalhawk turned back to Thundercracker and they began conversing with many large gestures. “Of course, the Prince agrees. To marry is better than to battle. He orders Yew to summon four representatives- matchmakers- for the most lovely princesses in Vos.” Thundercracker made a sweeping gesture to Metalhawk and the Seeker pranced off the stage. Skywarp got up a moment later and followed him dourly, gathering up the spilled scrolls.

Thundercracker made a rather comedic affair of pretending to spiff himself up, presumably to cover any last-minute costume changes. Then, he ascended the throne again and snapped his digits. Immediately, Metalhawk in Yew’s costume returned leading the other four Seekers in simple costumes that matched their paintjobs. Each carried a scroll and they knelt before the throne while Yew made sweeping gestures over them. The Intended was sitting nearest to stage left. “Yew goes on to describe the search for the four most lovely princesses. As he does so, he blesses the matchmakers themselves and their intentions.”

Rewind trailed over each matchmaker as they opened their scrolls and showed Thundercracker the portraits of the princesses. In turn, each extolled the beauty of their representation. Skywarp’s character put a great emphasis on the beauty of his princess’s wings, while Pharma gesticulated on his own choice’s frame. They began to fight with each other while Sunstorm’s character slipped close to the throne and began pretending to whisper syrupy words to the Prince. Starscream remained quietly kneeling, watching the spectacle with the same amused bemusement that Thundercracker was. This first Act was highly comedic, it was designed to be a light-hearted spectacle to counteract the dramatacism that would follow. 

The audience certainly found it hilarious, especially Elita and the Carcerians. Rewind suspected that their motives for their laughter were more unkind than humorous, though. He carefully muted them from the recording, blurring their frames. The Intended would not wish to remember those who had made fun of him, even as they enjoyed his hospitality.

At a moment while the action was becoming mildly repetitive, Rewind dropped his camera to the front row, scanning over the Prime’s entourage. The very young aides, Bumblebee and Cliffjumper, were giggling like sparklings. The Prime himself was chuckling deeply, his optics expressive above his facemask. 

Senator Shockwave leaned into Optimus’s helm and murmured something to the young Prime, which made both chuckle. Some quip, perhaps. Lord Megatron stoically watched, perhaps with a smile on his faceplates, though. Soundwave could not be read.

Roller and Amp were working a steady crescendo with their percussion instruments and the Xernochord. Something was about to snap.

Rewind turned his attention back to the stage just in time. With a flare of sudden light and a crash from Amp’s Cymbals, a series of flashcaps behind the throne went off, allowing for a spurt of controlled flames like a halo and Thundercracker was on his pedes, silencing the matchmakers with mimed frustration. They fell to the stage, in poses of supplication. “…The Prince flies into a rage at the behavior of the matchmakers. This is when his attention falls upon our title character, Sigourni, and he softens when he sees that he has upset Sigourni’s single sparkling, the child of his mate- Yew.”

Starscream had removed from his cockpit a small, bundled prop- the sparkling in question. The scroll had been laid beside the Seeker and he rocked the bundle pressed against him with all the tenderness of a Carrier over his own sparkling.

The Prince and Yew stepped between the other matchmakers and to Sigourni’s side. Yew leaned down and gently took the sparkling from his mate. He rocked it a few times and the constant tinkling of bells that Amp had been ringing slowed and stopped. The child was soothed. Chromedome adjusted the spotlights to bring more emphasis to the two mechs standing with the sparkling and the Seeker kneeling beside them.

“Yew calms his sparkling and the Prince asks to hold it. When the Prince is allowed to hold him, Yew leans in and whispers, ‘Isn’t it better to marry than fight? From marriage comes new life.’”

Rewind nodded pleasantly, keeping his camera on the stage. Metalhawk was leaning into Thundercracker as he held the prop, presumably to whisper that line. After a moment, the Prince nodded. He looked down at Siguourni’s scroll and bent down, handing the sparkling back to Sigourni and taking up the scroll. He studied it and nodded, rolling it up, tapping it against his palm. 

“The Prince accepts Sigourni’s proposed Princess and sends Yew to get a message off to the mech in question.” Pharma’s voice continued. “And that concludes Act One.”

The curtain fell as the music rose into a beautiful crescendo and the assembled audience applauded.


	34. Chapter 34

Optimus applauded sincerely for Starscream and the Seekers. It had been a surprisingly humorous first act. Elita had certainly laughed. He hoped it satisfied the horrible femme’s sense of humor. 

He took a moment to peek down the row to where Cliffjumper and Bumblebee were still clapping and enjoying themselves. Not for the first time, he wondered how old they were. Both seemed little more than mechlings some days and yet they had such a knowledge of diplomatic protocol and a sense of what was right and proper. It seemed as if they had been raised in the Palace, perhaps as young apprentices to the previous aides and had soaked in protocol the way some soaked in energon.

He made a mental note to speak to them about it later, ask them more questions. It always seemed there was so little time when they had a chance. The two little mechs were always hurrying to make him look perfect and get him on his way. He supposed that was their job, but it was a shame. He wanted to know more about them. It was something he would just have to make sure was on his priority list. Perhaps this evening he would ask them.

He turned to Prowl, who was directly beside him. He would have preferred it be Ironhide, but protocol dictates- blah, blah, blah… in any case, it was Prowl he needed to speak to. “The arrangements are on their way?”

“Of course, Prime. I did all you asked.” Prowl replied, murmuring. 

“Of course, thank you, Prowl.” Prime nodded to himself, smiling.

“I think it was a very sweet idea.” Jazz whispered across his mate. The music was starting again for Act Two. “Very romantic.”

“Thank you.” Optimus murmured back, smiling beneath his mask. 

Senator Shockwave leaned in slightly. “A surprise for the Intended?”

“I had the idea to have flowers brought for Starscream and the other Seekers after the performance. I just had to find out what flowers were going to be used this evening and which ones were Starscream’s favorites.” Optimus explained to the Senator. “After that, it was a simple matter of telling Prowl and he handled everything.”

“Ah. A good servant is hard to find.”

“I think of Prowl as a friend more than a servant.” Prime gently corrected the Senator. “He’s my second in palacial matters in any case.”

“I see. My apologies.” The Senator sat back as the curtain rose on Act Two. Optimus opened up the program and scanned it. The Prince, Yew, and Quian were celebrating their wisdom and good choice while Sigourni served them a meal. The stage was divided in half for the second act. A wall with a door had been set up in between the two, to make separate rooms. The spotlights were on a table, laid with a rich array of foods- real foods. Not just liquid energon. Terribly inefficient, but romantic and elegant. There were many colors and Starscream, as Sigourni, rushed about with plates and bowls. 

Thundercracker clinked his cup with Metalhawk and they laughed. 

Starscream rushed in to scoop up an empty bowl and add it to a stack of dishes on what appeared to be a secondary table.

Elita One and her group had claimed the row directly behind Optimus. They were sharing with the Camiens, but it wasn’t Chromia and Windblade that Optimus had a problem with. 

In fact, said pink one was snickering as Starscream hurried about, the tails of his large, looped sash flying behind him. “Now, isn’t that his proper place?” She whispered to Strika and their unkind mirth filled the air. 

Optimus frowned, staring up at his Intended sadly. It seemed there would be so much more fuel for the mockers after tonight’s performance. He wondered if the Seeker had truly thought this through.

Sunstreaker- the painter- caught his optic. The mech was sketching wildly on his pad. Something for later perhaps. In fact, now that Optimus was thinking of it, he had been drawing during the first Act as well. More for his exhibition of the Seekers, probably. He was taking this very seriously, which Optimus appreciated.

He turned his faceplates back to the stage. Sigourni was unsuccessfully attempting to summon a servant to help her with the dinner, but the butler-type, played by Skywarp, was being rather intractable, making gestures of refusal and shaking his helm. “Too busy.” The program explained. “Too much to do for the arrival of the Princess. Sigourni must do for herself.”

Sigourni gesticulated back, putting his helm in his hands and sobbing. “A single mech could never keep your master satisfied. I must have help.” The Seeker was projecting exhaustion and desperation very well. 

Skywarp, who was wearing- Optimus suddenly realized- a liveried sash that Manners owned, patted his wing gently and made some conciliatory gesture, pointing down to stage right. “Simply take the dishes down the hall to the dumbwaiter, and I will see to them myself.”

Optimus sat upright, studying the sash. It was Manners’s! The seal of the Prime was outlined on the reverse side, which Skywarp was wearing outwards. Now how had they gotten a hold of that? He shot a glance over his shoulder to where Manners was sitting in the very back with most of the servants- from Senator Shockwave’s household and the other guests’. The butler had an odd look on his faceplates, studying the sash as well.

Optimus turned back, a chuckle building in his throat. Well, apparently there was more to the Kibuki than met the optic.

Skywarp comforted Sigourni for a few moments more before the Seeker, sparkling still tucked in his cockpit, had to rush back in and tend to some more demands. At last, the scene changed and Sigourni helped haul off the decidedly overcharged Prince. When they exited stage right, the Seeker surveyed the party room, which was utterly trashed. He began gathering up dishes and clearing out the mess. Then, he went through the door and into the hall. The light that was on the party room went out as Starscream walked off the stage and behind the curtain. There was a flurry of activity on the other half of the stage and the spotlights opened up on the room again. This time, the three spurned matchmakers were sitting around a table, talking and drinking what the program called “the plotter’s wine- a bitter high-grade made out of grains and filtered many times over, but nothing can make it sweet.” 

Starscream walked back out onto the stage, still tottering under his tower of dishes. He passed by the door again and froze, leaning down and pressing close to the door.

“By chance, Sigourni overhears the other matchmakers plotting ways to make the Prince change his processor, and reject his original Intended.” Optimus raised his optical ridges. Well, well, well, the plot thickens. 

The spotlight focused on Pharma’s character. “The first matchmaker threatens poison.” Pharma produced a vial of green liquid from inside one of his draping sleeves. An annotation in the program noted that these particular sleeves were called “poisoner’s sleeves” because they could easily be used to hide objects, such as bottles of poison or daggers. 

“Meanwhile, the second Matchmaker shakes it off. What use is poison when gossip will do? Simply plant some incriminating evidence, make the Prince believe his Intended is unworthy or unfaithful.” This was Skywarp’s character, and his make-up had been altered to make his mouth look much larger and his optics shifty. Quite a change from the honorable and warlike Quian.

“The third Matchmaker dourly proposes that if neither of their plans work, he will kill the Princess himself.” And a blaster was produced, an antique weapon that still looked deadly in the stagelight.

Meanwhile, Sigourni looked up, horrified, at the audience and hurried off the stage again as the other matchmakers were coming out of their own meeting room, congratulating each other on their plot and bidding each other good night.

The curtain fell again, and that was the end of Act Two.


	35. Chapter 35

Lord Megatron applauded politely, but he truly wasn’t paying as much attention to the performance as he should. Though he was terribly curious, he knew there was a recording being made. He could review it later, in privacy and comfort, with his mate and their sparklings- Soundwave’s young cassettes. He could appreciate Starscream’s cleverness then, when the whole thing had a fast-forwards button. 

Shockwave leaned over to whisper. “Some of these costumes look distinctly familiar. I do believe the Intended is subtly mocking some of our guests.”

“Or complimenting them.” Megatron replied blithely. No, he was not paying attention.

Soundwave’s spark touched his, showing him an array of costuming pieces and whose clothing they resembled: A sash that must have been taken from the Prime’s livery pieces and Manners. A headpiece that Skywarp- the gossiping matchmaker- wore that resembled Elita’s favored one. A pair of bracers that the violent matchmaker-Sunstorm-wore that were a near exact twin to some that Chromia wore. Even a few of Yew and Quian’s costumes resembled some that Prowl and Ironhide wore occasionally.

Megatron pressed his lipplates together and he reminded himself that he had chosen Starscream to head his air forces for a reason: He was too clever for his own good as well as being the fastest thing alive. There was a reason for this spectacle, Starscream always had one. Though the silly Seeker may not have thought it through. 

Still, it was subtle, the jab and praise, and Megatron could not fault him for wanting some form of return against those who insulted and derided him as well as a way to praise those who had helped him. 

The young Prime was nearby. He took a moment to study him. As usual, he felt a mixed sort of trepidation and slight admiration for the mech. A dockworker, of all things, who suddenly became the highest ranked noble on the planet, then chose a Seeker for his mate. An outcast Seeker, barred from his profession by a council of mechs set against him for his frame.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons Megatron took so well to the smaller-than-average Seeker and his Intended. They were underdogs, it was difficult not to root for them when they were facing giants. 

Soundwave brushed across his spark, agreeing and offering support to his decisions. The telepath could be clingy, even sycophantic, but Megatron truly appreciated his support and affection. Of course, each and every one of their four sparklings was dear as well. Currently, they were asleep in their cassette forms inside their Carrier. Though knowing Ravage, she was awake and watching the Kibuki through the glass. Of all of their children, she had the most appreciation for art.

In fact, she could probably help him understand what was going on onstage. Starscream had paraded across it in his garb as the Princess, greeting the Prince with much joy and a beautiful demi-balletic scene where the Princess and Prince were taking each other in, letting the poisoning matchmaker theatrically invite him to share a meal. The Princess agreed and left the stage while the poisoner arranged the meal, pouring his vial into a goblet on a table.

Kaon had started up a sinister rumble with the drums and Roller had switched over to a fiddle, was playing Unicron’s triplets on it. The music, so far, was the best part of the performance. 

Sigourni crept in while the other matchmaker wasn’t looking and switched the goblets around. It was all rather predictable and- dare he say it- boring. This wasn’t his kind of scene. He would rather recharge through it, but wouldn’t that be a tasty little sideline: Intended makes fun of guests while Patrias sleeps.

He soldiered on through the third Act, watching Starscream return to the stage with Pharma in their guises as the Princess and the Poisoner. The Poisoner selected the poisoned goblet from its spot on the table and the Princess took the other. They conversed with grandiose gestures, discussing the nature of mechs and sparklings, the love that Carriers felt for their children and whether it was superior to the love between two mechs.

It would have been interesting if there was actual dialogue. The only language used on the stage was the wing language that Seekers were well known for and Megatron did not understand it. Blasted symbolic play. At least the first Act had been very funny, he would laugh at it later when he could relax while watching it.

At the moment, his attention was all on the people behind him. He couldn’t see their faces, though he wished he was in the spotlight rook with Chromedome and Rewind. While the little mech had made a great deal of trouble for Senator Shockwave, he was devoted to seeing the Seekers free. He would make a good Decepticon. He would have to mention it to them. 

It was going to be a long evening. This wasn’t his arena. Speaking to the normal people, helping them to organize, giving them hope… it was so much easier than having to play nice with these twits with their nasal vents constantly in the air. He wanted to haul back and clock that pink bitch a good one in the teeth. They thought they were so subtle in their teasing, but Megatron could hear every word. If they ever met in a dark alley, there would be another grisly murder on the police force’s servos.

There was something about the Carcerians that he just didn’t like. He was certain that he would try and turn them away if they had tried to join his Decepticons. Of course, they wouldn’t. They were born to privilege and had no interest in the underclasses. He couldn’t stand them. 

Soundwave sent out a soothing pulse to Megatron and he turned to the silent telepath, smiling at him. Soundwave’s visor flashed with pleasure at the attention and they both turned back to the play. Soundwave’s servo sneaked over to Megatron’s and took it. Megatron caressed the other servo and stroked its back.

Soundwave leaned a little closer to him and rested against his shoulder. Onstage, Pharma collapsed from the “poison” and the Princess backed away, looking this way and that before rushing from the stage. Kaon played a horn to signal her crying out for help. Meanwhile, Starscream slipped behind the second curtain on the stage and rushed across to the other side. Through some sort of sleight of hand, the Princess’s costume melted away and Sigourni was emerging from stage left. The small matchmaker bent over the Poisoner and nodded, patting his cockpit, supposedly to soothe the sparkling within. Poison returns to the poisoner.

Megatron nodded as the curtain fell for the third time. Three acts down, three to go. Halfway without sleeping wasn’t bad. He joined in the applause as the audience stood up. It was time for dinner. He didn’t know which he dreaded more: The dinner, or the next three acts. At least while Starscream and his Seekers were making fools of themselves onstage, he didn’t have to speak to any of the assembled nobles, but it would be inevitable at dinner. 

And Starscream had insisted on serving. That would only add fuel to Elita’s fire. He expected to hear double-entendres and puns and bad jokes all through dinner. It would only be made worse by Starscream’s pretense at not speaking Common Iacon. 

Still, the femme’s comments would wear on the Seeker as much as they would wear on the warlord.


	36. Chapter 36

Elita One and her Carcerian comrades went off to the washroom to “touch up their paint.” In reality, it was to brood and scheme, of course. The guests milled in the halls and entry while the Seekers went to the dining hall to prepare. Optimus had to make nice with the Senators and representatives. At least it wasn’t so bad. Megatron claimed his attention for a light discussion on the Kibuki play. It seemed the warlord hadn’t really been paying attention to anything but the first Act, though, and had to look to Soundwave for help with the subtleties. Strange, Optimus had heard that he wrote poetry. 

He would ask Starscream later.

Prowl and Jazz came up beside them and the five continued their conversation.

Suddenly, Jazz spoke frankly. “Oh, bother it all. Optimus, do you know if Starscream is trying to send a message?”

Optimus was taken aback, as was Prowl. “Jazz! You can’t just- You can’t- Oh, bother it. If you can’t keep your vocalizer off, we’re going home! I can’t believe you talked me into letting you come, all you ever do is cause trouble.”

“It’s not trouble, Prowl. It was refreshingly clear and straightforwards.” Optimus calmed his second. Prowl wasn’t really angry at Jazz, he was afraid that Prime would take offense at the direct question.

Megatron rumbled in agreement. “Can we just agree to have a frank, non-political conversation?” 

Soundwave nodded acquiescence. Prowl ex-vented in relief. “Very well. Frank and unpolitical.”

“I noticed that they were using some rather familiar costume pieces.” Jazz sipped from a flute of high-grade. 

“Ah, you spotted the livery sash as well.” Prowl praised his mate adoringly.

“Indeed. They must have borrowed it for the performance.” Optimus agreed. “It will be returned, probably.”

Megatron chuckled. “It was the use of the sash that was interesting.”

“Skywarp was wearing it as the Prince’s butler.” Prowl agreed. “Was it a compliment or an insult?”

“I believe it was meant to be a compliment.” Prime replied. “Manners has been one of the better servants about all this. He’s been kind to Starscream. Took some advice from Lady Windblade to give him a Vosnian favorite: Piovilies.”

“Oh, delicious.” Jazz nodded. “I saw a dish of them in the kitchen… I may have, tasted a few.”

Prowl gave his mate a look and sigh.

Optimus chuckled. “It stuck in Starscream’s processor. I suppose the costuming is a way for him to tell everyone exactly what he thinks of them.”

“So, he likes Manners, so the butler who comforted and tried to help Sigourni wore his sash.” Jazz connected. “I see!”

“Exactly.” Optimus agreed. There was a shift in the room and the air and Starscream was at his arm. He switched to Vosnian. “Ah, Starscream, we were just talking about you.”

“All good things, I hope.” 

“Jazz noticed your messages in the costuming. Very clever. We were just discussing them. Care to join in.”

“I’d love to, but it’s dinner time, and the tables are set up.” Starscream sighed. “Come into the dining room. Shockwave’s about to announce.”

“Ah.” Optimus turned to the group. “Dinner’s ready. We need to go in now.” True to Starscream’s word, Senator Shockwave was clapping his servos as they entered the beautifully arrayed dining room.

Once again, Optimus was amazed by the strangeness of something new and the beauty of a different culture. The tables were low to the floor and surrounded by cushions. Meant to be knelt at. Each one was made of polished variegate and the cushions were velvet with tasseled corners. From the ceiling, dozens more lanterns hung, each one bright red and about as big around as Optimus’s arms could reach. They provided much more light than the ones hanging in the tree outside, but these were all identical, with much less variation. Every one of them had a gold tassel hanging down from the lamp.

Each table had a smaller, rotating table on it. Optimus put out a digit and spun the one on the nearest table. Starscream chuckled. “Don’t play with the Lazy Susan, Optimus, or you’ll get an audialful from Shockwave. I know we did when we tried to make them all spin at once yestercycle.”

Optimus chuckled back. “I can imagine you doing that.” He admired the arrangements of Camellias and roses in the center of each table. The head table had a massive vase of them and also included waterlilies. Optimus recalled that waterlilies were symbolic of “absolute love” a love that eclipsed all others, while roses symbolized marriage and camellias the support of family. Important elements in Vosnian culture.

Starscream gently pulled Optimus in and showed him to his seat at the head of the dining room, the central table. “I’ll be serving this table alone. Pharma and the rest of my Seekers will wander through the room and serve the others.”

“It’s going to be a very busy evening for whoever has to serve Elita.” Optimus observed.

“Unfortunately, I have that dubious honor. She’ll be sitting here, along with Lady Windblade and the other chief representatives, yourself, of course, and Shockwave. Megatron, Soundwave, and anyone else with experience with proper food will be distributed among the tables. Hopefully no one will be totally lost.” Starscream explained. He looked around. The others were finding their seats and distracted. With a quick movement, he flicked the catch for Optimus’s mask and kissed him on the lips.

Optimus, surprised, had time to barely kiss him back before Starscream drew back. He closed his mask as quickly as possible as the other guests began to pour in. “I do love you, Starscream.”

“I know.” Starscream chucked his chin and straightened, walking towards the entrance to the kitchens where the other Seekers were already collecting trays of delicious smelling foods that winked tantalizingly over the edges of the bowls.

Elita claimed the seat beside Optimus, in spite of the face that it was very clearly labeled for Senator Shockwave. “This is a very droll affair, Prime.”

Optimus was having enough of this femme’s slag. “Elita, that seat is labeled for Senator Shockwave.”

The pink femme flashed him what she must have thought was a charming smile. He felt as if he was staring at something poisonous. “He surely won’t mind. If I sit here, he gets to sit between Moonracer and Windblade.”

“Perhaps he will not mind, but not only do I believe he will, but I do mind. I do not like rudeness.” Optimus insisted. “Here he comes now, why don’t you ask him?”

Elita’s expression soured. She took no pleasure in being called out before the assembly. Standing, she moved from Shockwave’s low cushion to the one between Windblade and Moonracer.

Shockwave settled beside Optimus. “Thank you. Now, just as a warning, this meal will likely be very different from anything you’ve experienced before.” He picked up a pair of lacquered, wooden sticks that had been lying across his plate. “These are the utensils of choice for this meal. They’re called chopsticks.” He showed them how to hold them. “Now simply use them like a vise to pick up food and bring it to your mouths.”

Starscream appeared at Optimus’s side bearing a tray in his servos. 

“Ah, our meal. Thank you, Starscream.” Shockwave sat back as the Seeker lowered the tray to the floor nearby and began distributing beautiful, covered dishes to the Lazy Susan. When they were arrayed before the guests, he stood, bowed, and went back to the kitchen. “The Seekers will not speak during our meal, it’s to be very traditional. Starscream helped to prepare a great deal of the food himself in the kitchens. All of the Seekers have been working tirelessly for this evening.” Shockwave informed them.

Starscream returned with a pot of brewed enertea and poured a serving into each of their cups.

Elita chose to raise her ugly helm again. “On Carcer, it is traditional for the cook to sample the food in front of the guests.”

Shockwave blinked at her. “Why? That seems rather odd.”

“To test it for poison.”


	37. Chapter 37

“To test it for poison.” Her voice seemed to echo, silencing the entire room as all optics turned to the main table where Starscream stood, holding the pot of enertea and fuming silently. Vosnian culture forbade him from defending himself to the pink femme.

“Why would Starscream wish to poison his own Intended?” Shockwave questioned the femme. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Perhaps if the Prime was not the target.” 

Starscream’s lipplates twisted and he knelt beside the table once more. Optimus offered him his chopsticks and received a grateful nod in return. Reaching out to the dishes on the Susan, Starscream took a bite of each one, not hesitating, and without fear. There was no poison in the dishes. 

The Seeker’s burning optics met Elita One’s and held them. When he turned away, the femme had a blank look on her faceplates. She had been outmaneuvered, expecting Starscream to protest innocence and cast more suspicion on the meal he and his had prepared.

Optimus reached out to the dishes and pointed to a plate crowded with what looked like peaches modeled in dough. “Senator, do you know what these dishes are?”

“Of course!” Senator Shockwave smiled, delighted to change the subject. “Those are longevity peaches, a steamed bun filled with a seed paste and colored like a peach. Go ahead, taste them.”

Orion reached out with the blunt end of the chopsticks- as he had been instructed- and served himself one of the peaches. As soon as he did, the rest of the hall started in as well and soon everyone was talking and enjoying themselves.

Well, almost everyone. Every time Starscream filled up a tea cup, or brought out the Vosnian high grade that some preffered, Elita shot him such a look. It was beyond “if looks could kill” and straight into “why isn’t your plating singed.”

Aside from the sour femme, everyone was enjoying the meal a great deal and Starscream and all the Seekers were kept busy running back and forth from kitchen to tables with dishes, trays, teapots, and carafes. It was a beautiful meal.

Some of the dishes were distinctly odd. There was a small bowl of paste that Senator Shockwave revealed was a spread for the longevity peaches ground from the buds of a lotus and mixed with spices. Then, there was a broth that was made only from the heads of fish and mixed with cream. Of course, there were also things that seemed to appeal better, such as the soft protoform of a lypher or a bowl of what were called “potstickers” which seemed to be a sort of dumpling that was pan-fried instead of boiled.

Enerpaste noodles that had been formed into loose curls became Optimus’s favorite quickly, especially tossed in Brussels as they were. A sauce that Shockwave revealed to be fermented beans was set on the table in a small ewer. It tasted like Optimus imagined the sea would: Salty and with a hint of mercury.

Pharma and Roller flirted silently over the Seeker’s duties. Every time Pharma filled his tea cup, Roller would drain it in the next moment, forcing Pharma to return with his tea pot and refill it. The musician put out a discrete servo and plucked a white camellia from the vase on the table and tucked it into Pharma’s sash. 

Amp leaned close to the amorous tank. “Be careful, Roller. I know you two have had an experience together, but you are being rather obvious about it.”

“Why not be obvious?” Roller kept his optics locked on Pharma as he ate stir-fryed flower buds. 

“For reasons that I have already stated. He may not yet be free. It certainly isn’t appropriate to begin a courtship when the Intended is still working through his own nuptials. If you care for Pharma’s reputation, the both of you must keep this a secret.” Amp warned him.

Roller nodded sadly. “It’s such a petty, stupid rule. I want to take him everywhere with me, I want everyone to know whose he is.”

Amp patted his shoulder. “I know, Roller. I know. Have some glass noodles and don’t think about it. And no more tea. If you have any more, you’ll have to use the refresher.”

Roller nodded resentfully. “All right, all right… I suppose you’re right.”

“I always am.” Amp turned back to his own dish and kept up his easy flirting with the small Velocitronian femme next to him.

Sunstorm slipped up next to Sunstreaker and set a plate at his elbow. The Praxian was working at an easel in the corner, capturing the scene. Well, an easel was perhaps an understatement. He was working at a blank canvas easily twice as long as Sunstorm was tall and half as high. The golden Seeker watched as Sunstorm sketched detail into the scene. The artist was hard at work, one optic on the diners, one optic on the canvas.

Rewind was standing beside him. The little camera had been wandering about the room taking footage of the Seeker’s at their work, the diners eating, and Sunstreaker sketching. As a result, he appeared five times in the sketched mural. Sunstorm wondered if Sunstreaker would correct that or leave it, letting the mistake reflect the real-life perception of the archivist being everywhere. 

Sunstreaker realized the Seeker was there and beckoned him closer to watch as he worked. “I wish I could freeze this moment. Everyone seems happy.” He nodded to himself when Sunstorm put a servo to his lipplates, reminding the painter that he wasn’t supposed to speak that evening. “Of course, of course… are you enjoying yourself, though?”

Sunstorm smiled brightly, picking himself out, bent over to serve tea to a mech at one of the tables. Sunstreaker had taken a great deal of time with that sketch, it was very clear and distinct. The head table, with Optimus and Starscream, was the centerpiece, of course, but Sunstreaker always managed to bring some attention to his own favorite.

Pharma clicked his fingers at Sunstorm and pointed to the Intended, who was about to return to the kitchen for more tea for the head table. If he caught Sunstorm slacking when they were all over-stretched already, he would never hear the end of it. Sunstorm made sure Sunstreaker saw his dish of food, then hurried as unobtrusively back to the kitchens as he could.

Sunstreaker’s optics followed him. He had made the Seekers pose in their favorite costumes for a group portrait earlier, and Sunstorm had chosen to wear his simple linens. Of course, the golden Seeker would have glowed in sackcloth and ashes, but he looked particularly lovely in the plain linen and simple, base make-up. Starscream had chosen his costume as Sigourni and the other Seekers had been arrayed in other costumes, but Sunstreaker had the feeling that when he painted the portrait, Sunstorm would glow brighter than said Intended. 

It felt like a blessing and a curse, to love the Seeker this much and know his duties held him tantalizingly out of reach. Sunstorm would never give himself to the Praxian and Sunstreaker would never dream of plucking him unwillingly. Perhaps theirs was destined to be a celibate, but passionate love. The artist and his subject, locked in a cycle and forever separated.

It was enough to make the Praxian want to weep, but he continued on, making sure to turn Elita’s helm away in his mural. Nasty, nasty femme… insinuating that the meal his pure, precious Sunstorm had prepared with his own two servos was poisoned.

She was dangerous… he would put nothing past her.

Starscream fumed internally. Who did that Elita think she was? Accusing him of attempting to poison his guests, what rubbish! He was tempted to slip something nasty into her tea next time she imperiously gestured to her cup. She was enjoying this far too much.

Not for the first time, he regretted insisting on a highly traditional Vosnian meal. He would have liked to sit beside Optimus and be served instead of serving. The low tables were crowded slightly by feasting mechs and the smells tortured him. Of course, the servers had had their meal beforehand and there would be more food later after the performance, but seeing dishes piled with steaming noodles or a whole fish laid open and stuffed with rice and not being able to take even a single bite wore on him.

Not to mention that every time Elita made a comment, he wanted to dump a tureen of boiling Firecracker Soup on her helm. Perhaps that would shut her up. He could almost see the broth running down her plating to soak into her expensive covering. There would be mechashrimps stuck in her headdress and spicy mushrooms on her shoulder plates…

He was brought back to reality when he reached the kitchens and handed over his tea pot for another one. Skywarp was just leaving with another “Ugly Fish” as the particular dish was called. The purple Seeker flashed a grin at Starscream’s expression. “Elita, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it!” Starscream hissed. “That poisonous…” He put a clamp on his language as one of Shockwave’s servants handed him the new pot of tea. “It doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s get back to the rush.”

Skywarp and Starscream parted ways, going to their separate tables. On the way, they passed Pharma, who nodded to the both of them. Skywarp continued on, setting the Ugly Fish down in its place on the lazy Suzan in front of Megatron and Soundwave. The warlord nodded to the Seeker and pointed out a nearly-empty bowl of soup.

Skywarp nodded, grabbing the bowl and heading back for the kitchen. Now, while he was thinking of soup… he needed to go make sure the grand finale was going well.

Metalhawk had the same idea and both Seekers bent over a cauldron. “Do you think it’s ready?”

“Who can tell? The broth is cooked, that’s all that matters.” Metalhawk told him. “Did everything go in is the question.”

“Of course everything went in. I did it myself.” Skywarp assured him.

“Skywarp!”

“I made a checklist!” The Seeker showed it to his compatriot.

“All right then. And you’re sure it was all the right stuff?” Metalhawk questioned.

“Yes, Metalhawk.”

“I don’t mean to doubt you, Skywarp, but with the way Elita has been acting… I can’t help but be nervous.”

“…You think she’d try to poison…?”

“I think after the way the Intended had Pharma dress, it might be inevitable. She got it, Skywarp.”

“Good.” Skywarp nodded. “Then we’ll just have to be extra careful with what Starscream eats.”

“We will.” Metalhawk gave the soup a gentle stir. “It’s almost time.”


	38. Chapter 38

Optimus felt as if he could eat this kind of food for the rest of his life and never bore of it. There was an efficiency in liquid energon, energy, pure and simple, but this… this was something else entirely.

“Save some appetite.” Senator Shockwave warned Optimus. “The best is yet to come.”

“What could be better than this?” Optimus questioned, nibbling on the long, soft noodles. Each one, uncurled, was a meter long. Curled, they were little more than three inches across.

“Oh, you’ll see.” The Senator smirked mischievously. “Just make sure you can eat after you’ve had all this.”

At that moment, Starscream brought over a bowl of Piovilies tossed with various other fruits and, when he left, he carried away the centerpiece. Senator Shockwave nodded. “It’s almost time.”

Optimus took a small serving of the fruits and nibbled, eyeing the other dishes- sorely tempted, but taking Shockwave’s warning to spark.

He was glad he did when the Senator stood up. “May I have your attention, please!” Metalhawk and Skywarp were carrying out a large cauldron of what appeared to be steaming soup. Sunstorm and Pharma followed them with stacks of small bowls in their arms. Thundercracker came behind, carrying one large bowl and a ladle. Starscream came behind him, servos folded.

“We have one last event before dinner is over.” Shockwave explained. “If everyone could grab your cushions and form a circle around the head table, we’ll begin.” As the guests at the other tables picked up their seats and began forming a loose circle, he explained, “This last dish is called One Thousand Blessings. It’s part of the traditional Vosnian engagement and was once thought to be useful in fortune telling. As you’ll observe, the Intended and Optimus Prime will each dip up three ladlefuls from the cauldron while I serve, then drink the broth. After the Prime and Starscream have been served, each of the attendants and those present will also have a serving. I will play the matchmaker in this case and read the ingredients that the Intended and Prime dipped up.” As he spoke, Skywarp and Metalhawk arranged the stacks of small bowls on the head table. The others seated there respectfully moved back to give them all room to work. In the back, the servants of the house and those the guests had brought were being ushered in and instructed to take seats all around the outer circle. 

Starscream settled on a cushion beside Shockwave and flashed a smile at Optimus. The Prime nodded back, taken by surprise, but pleasantly so. This should be fun. He had heard of One Thousand Blessings in his research and had been disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to use it for his own marriage. It was a pleasantly intriguing idea.

When the guests and servants were arrayed, the Senator took up the stirring spoon and looked down at Optimus. “If you will, Prime?”

Optimus stood up and Starscream picked up the large bowl and the ladle. Optimus took the first dip into the rich broth. As soon as he had ladled it into the bowl, careful not to spill any, Starscream handed him the bowl and took his turn. There was a rather obvious yawn from somewhere out in the audience, but Optimus made a point of ignoring it.

When they had dipped up six ladles of the boiling soup, the other Seekers converged again, taking control of the ladle from Starscream and filling each small bowl with a ladleful while Shockwave continued to stir. They flitted about with trays covered with the small bowls, delivering one to every occupant of the room before taking one each for themselves.

Shockwave stood out of the way and Optimus and Starscream’s servos connected as they lifted the bowl together. They took turns drinking the broth while the rest of the guests raised their own to their lipplates. It was a solemn, beautiful moment. Optimus noticed that Sunstreaker barely remembered to drink his own as he sketched hurriedly on a datapad and Rewind tipped his helm oddly as he tried to both drink and keep his camera trained on the head table. 

When they had drained the bowl, Senator Shockwave took it and emptied its contents onto a silver tray, sorting through them with a pair of chopsticks.

He began to monologue, reading the ingredients left behind. “A long noodle… you will have a long life together. Two lotus buds… you will love each other dearly and nothing will come between you. A sour plum… you will struggle, outsiders will attack you. But these- the scales of a turtle- you will be protected, strong. Silver fishes… you will want for nothing. A dumpling… There will be at least one child from your union… hang on…” He broke it open with his chopsticks, revealing a seed paste center. “A filled dumpling, you will be fertile.”

There was some chuckling over that from the rest of the group. 

Shockwave pushed back the tray and smiled at the to-be’s. “In all, an auspicious reading.”

Optimus smiled at Starscream and the Seeker smiled back. Optimus noticed Bumblebee and Cliffjumper grinning at something in Bumblebee’s little servo. Perhaps he had found one of the coins that were a common addition to One Thousand Blessings. 

After the chatter, others looking into their bowls and trying to identify their own, or coming to Shockwave to identify it- Optimus thought that this might become a new tradition in Iaconian society for at least a brief fad- the Seekers had to slip away again to get into their costumes for the fourth Act. Optimus squeezed Starscream’s servo when the Seeker smiled at him and left.

Elita and her little covey were discussing over something with each other. Elita kept touching a digit ring as she spoke. Optimus shook his helm. Probably jealous over Starscream- as usual.

Prowl approached Optimus. “The floral arrangement is here. I’ll have it in the front entry and bring it in at the last Act for you.” 

“Perfect. Have you looked at it?” Optimus questioned his second.

“No, not yet. It’s covered in an opaque veil, and no one will disturb it.” Prowl replied. “It will keep fresh: The gardener put each stem into a vial of water.”

“Good. Then let’s enjoy the rest of the Kibuki.” Optimus told his major domo. “It’s rather hot in here, I’m going to sit in the courtyard and wait.”

Manners rushed up from the same direction Prowl came in. “Optimus, may I have a word?”

“Can it wait, Manners? Is it urgent?”

“I think it’s urgent, but it’s not exactly life-threatening-“

Optimus held up a servo. “Manners, unless it is an emergency, I order you to relax. You should enjoy yourself and allow me to enjoy myself.” He hated to put it so bluntly, but Manners had a tendency to overstate the importance of an issue.

“But Prime…” Manners bit at his digit’s tip. “I really think…”

“Manners, relax.” Optimus assured him. “Everything is in servo.”

Manners sighed and looked about. “Very well, Prime. I will see you when the Kibuki resumes.”

Optimus nodded and parted ways from his butler, going to speak to the Camiens, who seemed to be waiting in ambush for him near the entrance to the courtyard.

Windblade was the one who pounced on him, though Chromia and Metrocas were there as well, effectively barring his way. Sometimes, the maze of political figures felt like a video game. Lo, a wild Windblade bars the way! 

After exchanging a few kind words with the Camien, Optimus made his escape. Primus, was this going to be his life? Taking to silly people about silly things and no doing anything of substance? He didn’t think he could live with it. Perhaps it was just his tank grumbling at him because he was over full, but he felt ill, unsatisfied. He barely heard Windblade’s chatter and was certain his answers hadn’t been entirely correct. When he made his escape, the malaise slowly cleared. Roller and Amp had taken up their posts again and were playing music. The Prime settled in his seat and simply enjoyed it.


	39. Chapter 39

The party gathered in the courtyard again for the second half of the play. Prowl and Jazz took up positions near the end of the row so that Prowl could fetch Optimus’s gift for Starscream at the end of the Kibuki. 

Elita One was still fuming over the failure at dinner. Not only did she not get to sit beside Optimus, her jab about poison had missed its mark. Starscream had treated her with the same contempt he would a mocker in a crowd and that stung the pink femme. She wasn’t used to being treated as if she was below a mech’s notice.

Megatron settled into his place with Soundwace and Cliffjumper and Bumblebee were still whispering about plans for the gold credit Bumblebee had found when the music began again and the curtain rose on the fourth act.

The two remaining matchmakers were conversing hurriedly in a corridor. Sigourni was “hidden” behind a statue listening in as Skywarp- the gossiping matchmaker- and Sunstorm- the violent one- discussed their compatriot’s failure. Once again, they went over their own contingency plans and the program became invalulable for understanding the two mech’s balletics. “The remaining matchmakers discuss the gossiping matchmaker’s scheme. He suggests that they construct a plan to ruin the Princess’s reputation and expose him to the Prince as a licentious shareware. They scheme to bribe another noble to claim that he spent the night cycle in the Princess’s berth and to bring forth an intimate garment as proof.”

Skywarp and Sunstorm had a half-victorious, half-vindictive ballet on the wing as they went about bribing the noble- played by Pharma- to claim that a drape they gave him was the Princess’s to the Prince’s face.

Sigourni overheard everything and slipped off to make his own preparations. Meanwhile, the Prince and Yew entered the stage, discussing particulars of the marriage ceremony. It turned into reminicization on Yew’s own match to Sigourni. While they were discussing the sanctification ceremony, Pharma swept in with the other matchmakers. On the other half of the stage, Starscream was marshalling a crowd of imaginary servants, ordering them to take out every wrap and cover the Princess owned. Wirework was responsible for the flurry of fabric all around the gesticulating Seeker. Drift having fun again. 

Pharma produced the cover, a beautiful, lacy thing, that Optimus had come to understand was worn beneath the sashes that these Seeker nobles would have wrapped around their codpieces. In other words, it was a symbol of purity. Having someone else’s was tantamount to claiming their seals.

Optimus wanted to giggle like a naughty sparkling seeing something inappropriate as the matchmaker and noble described the supposed seduction. Skywarp swooned into Pharma’s arms as the two Seekers narrated with gestures that bordered on obscene. Once again, laughter began to ripple across the courtyard. The Prime wondered if the director of the Iaconian Opera House would be open to hosting a few Kibuki plays in addition to the normal review. If they were all this funny, he would never be able to get enough of them.

Optimus watched as the Prince recoiled dramatically, fainting back against Yew. Meanwhile Sigourni stuffed the altered coverings back into their places and rushed out onto the other half of the stage. Immediately, he dumped a vase of water on Thundercracker’s face. Of course, there wasn’t really liquid in the vase, it was pantomime. When the Prince recovered, Sigourni wove his own tale of woe. The program came in handy again. “Sigourni explains to the Prince that the Princess, overcome by rage and horror at these allegations, has taken to his berth and sent the matchmaker to argue his case. The Prince demands that Sigourni explain these charges to him. At this point, Sigourni turns to the matchmakers and murmurs, “Is there anything so vengeance-laden as a mech scorned?” He then produces one of the Princess’s covers and shows the Prince that all of the Princess’s garments have a sun embroidered into the corner, the alteration that Sigourni had the servants make in the previous scene. The intimate cover that the noble has, of course, does not have a sun embroidered anywhere on it. With the ruse revealed to be false by the clever matchmaker, the Prince sends the gossiping matchmaker and the noble from his presence. This leaves only the violent matchmaker to oppose the Princess’s union to the Prince.”

Optimus found himself chuckling at the exaggerated rage Thundercracker flew into when Sigourni revealed the switch of the garments. He rushed about the stage, chasing Pharma and Skywarp in their guises as the gossiping matchmaker and lying noble. Behind him, Elita and her group were noticeably silent, devoid of the snickering laughter that they had been indulging in all evening. Perhaps the Carcerians were picking up on the jabs aimed at them and other delegates from the stage. 

Optimus shook his helm. Finally, if so.

The Fifth Act began with the Princess and his handmecha preparing for the marriage ceremony. Starscream stood on a raised platform while Sunstorm and Pharma performed an elegant ballet about him, making adjustments to the heavy gown he wore, adding beads and gems here and there. Meanwhile, the music became soft and romantic, with a low percussion and a high flute. Skywarp, dressed as the butler again, with Manners’ sash still wrapped about him, entered the scene as the two handmecha had collapsed on the floor about their mistress, swooning with excitement. The butler wasted no time in delivering a message to the Princess stating that the final matchmaker wished to see him to deliver a greeting before the wedding. The Princess looked down at his two handmecha, still swooning, and nodded, agreeing to meet the matchmaker. He stepped down off of his pedastel and walked offstage with Skywarp.

There was a scene change and the Princess walked back onto the stage in what was supposed to be a courtyard. The violent matchmaker was not there. However, five Seeker assassins appeared suddenly with various weapons and menaced the Princess. He shucked off her heavy robe, leaving it on the floor, and leapt about the stage, avoiding their weapons. Suddenly, he leapt into the air and the action began. 

In the meantime, the chairs were… transforming was the only word for it. They reclined far enough that the audience could easily see the Seekers as they danced and fought about the tree, lit by the lanterns, but sometimes still barely visible. At the climax of the fight, when the Princess had made two of his assassins crash together and a third run into the tree trunk, the fireworks suddenly lit. Amid the glare of sparks and the noise of the crackers exploding, the remaining two assassins caught the Princess at the pinnacle of the tree. For a brief moment, night was bright as day as the three struggled. The Assassins peeled off suddenly, disappearing into the dark as the Princess hung suspended, but seemingly limp…. And then fell. Truly fell, as if unconscious or simply offline. He landed somewhere behind the tree, over the courtyard wall and there was a sound that echoed in the sudden silence. Amp and Roller had silenced their instruments when the assassins peeled out. It was a final sound that killed that simultaneously killed the mood and sent the whole courtyard into a deep mourning.

The curtain fell on the fifth Act.


	40. Chapter 40

Megatron had become very interested in the play after the fight began. The flying sparks and weaving Seekers only added to the excitement. For once it wasn’t an intellectually balletic experience, now it was real and exciting. When the Princess crashed, it all came tumbling down and left him reeling.

The sixth Act began with a Seeker, collapsed on the stage. Amp played a flute that sounded eerily like the wail of a sparkling. The Prince, Yew, and the Violent Matchmaker gathered on the stage, staring at the frame. The Prince turned to Yew and placed a servo at his optics, weeping.

Yew placed a servo on the Prince’s wing and shook his helm. With slow steps, he approached the collapsed Seeker and bent over him. Amp’s flute playing crescendoed as Yew opened up the Seeker’s cockpit and lifted out the bundled prop that Sigourni had carried throughout the Kibuki. He soothed and rocked the sparkling over the greyed frame of its Carrier, then stood up.

Yew illustrated a story for the Prince with his servos. A tale of a brave Seeker who had done what he could to protect his Princess from those who sought to harm him. Of the lengths that Sigourni had gone to in order to keep the Prince’s Intended safe from enemies who attempted to poison, ruin, and outright kill him. Even to the point of sacrificing his own life. 

Yew gestured to the edge of the stage and the Princess, in all his magnificence, stepped out. The Princess and Matchmaker had pulled a switch on the assassins. The Violent Matchmaker went into a screaming fit and was dragged off by two guards. 

Megatron’s processor put together the message the Seekers were sending. It was rather obvious, clear, and simple, but profound: A warning. To Starscream’s enemies: There are devoted servants of Primus, the Prime, and Cybertron surrounding the Intended on all sides. You will have to go through them, one by one, and you had best be clever, subtle, and powerful, or you will be struck down in the ways you intend to strike. Beware.

The stage darkened and when the lights came back up, it was decorated in gold and with draperies. In front of a raised altar, the Prince and Princess were standing, holding each other’s servos. While they took their vows, a spot brightened on the stage and Sigourni appeared in it, transparent and fading. She raised her servos in silent applause and blessing. As she vanished, the colorful lanterns that had been illuminating the courtyard began to spin and burst into colorful sparks and the curtain fell. After a moment of darkness, the spotlights glared again and the courtyard was lit. The Kibuki ended with a fanfare and the curtain raised one last time for a Vosnian curtsy from the six Seekers. 

Optimus and his party were the first to their feet. Prowl rushed back into the courtyard with the floral arrangement in his arms and Optimus took it from him, unveiling the most hideous arrangement of yellows and oranges that he had ever seen. There was no way to make it seem like anything other than what it was, disgusting. And, of course, everyone in the courtyard had seen it. Everyone on the stage saw it too and Optimus turned a pleading look to Starscream. Said Seeker stepped to the front of the stage gracefully, a large, almost-sincere smile plastered across his faceplates. He extended his arms for the arrangement and cradled it like a sparkling. He spoke to the Prime in Vosnian, smile still in place. “I hope this isn’t your idea of a joke.”

“Of course not.” Optimus replied. “I ordered a bouquet of Camellia, Rose, and Lilies, but there must have been a misunderstanding about the colors.”

“Hmm. Someone wants me to make a show of this and pitch a fit, I’ll bet.” Starscream stroked one of the Camellia’s hideous petals. “Oh, Primus, this is going to look absolutely terrible.” He bent lower and pecked the Prime on his mask. “But thank you, for thinking of me.” While Optimus was still blinking, Starscream retreated behind the curtain and it fell. 

The guests soon poured out of the courtyard and were shuffled back into the dining room, which had been cleared of tables and cushions. There were more snacks and bites of Vosnian delicacies on running boards about the room and Roller and Amp began to play soft music that could be danced to. Optimus was roped into a dance with Windblade before Starscream appeared.

“The things I would do for you.” Starscream sighed fondly as Optimus made his way to the Seekers, who had changed from their heavy costumes to more normal clothing. The lead Seeker was dressed in white and the hideous flowers had been woven and pinned to the fabric like a trim. It was a ghastly sight. 

“I’m so sorry. Manners was trying to warn me about this… But I thought he was just worrying without cause.”

“Yes, well, for this evening, my absolute favorite colors are yellow and orange, and don’t let slip that it’s anything else.” Starscream sighed. “Though I imagine Elita will not allow me to forget this soon.”

“Perhaps not.” Optimus looked into his optics. “You’re still beautiful.” He playfully batted a sprig of yellow flowers off of the Seeker’s forehelm. “Even with all of these all over you.”

“I know.” Starscream smiled hautily. “I can see it when you look at me.”

Optimus wished he could kiss the Seeker then, but propriety forbade it. Instead, he placed an armstrut about his waist and took the Seeker into the chamber. A servant, going about the room, gave a drink to Elita, who deliberated over them, before heading to the Prime and Starscream. Both mechs took the closest goblet from the edge and sipped simply to have something to do as they stood. 

“I’m starving and exhausted at the same time.” Starscream told Optimus quietly. “Let’s get something to eat and just sit. I don’t think I have the energy to dance.”

“I’m all right with that.” Optimus agreed. “I would like a few more bites of some of the dishes we had at dinner.”

“Don’t eat too much or you’ll be very sick in the morning.” Starscream warned him as they meandered to the running boards. 

“I won’t.” Optimus promised as he took a few more of the Longevity Peaches and Starscream put together a plate of everything. “The Kibuki was beautiful. I noticed that you were sending a message in it.”

“Good. We weren’t intending it to be particularly subtle.” Starscream agreed easily, eating delicacies with the tips of his digits. “I hate eating with my servos.”

“Perhaps we could find you some of those Chapsticks.”

“CHOP-sticks.” Starscream enunciated. “It’s an odd word in your language, I know.”

They settled down on a couch and watched the nobles dance and talk in groups. Starscream sipped his shimmering drink and ate until he was sated. Optimus kept an arm strut on the back of the couch, protective and supporting. Tonight’s performance had revealed things about Starscream and about how he saw the people around them. Fuel for the processor indeed.


	41. Chapter 41

Optimus woke in the middle of the night, groaning, an arm thrown across his middle. He staggered to his feet, his tanks churning and struggling, and grabbed the panic button, pressing it.

His guards, Rodimus and Sideswipe, who were on duty, rushed into the room. “Prime!”

Optimus groaned, sinking partway to the floor as his tank sent spikes of pain through him. “Sideswipe, Rodimus… To the medbay, quickly.”

They grabbed him under his arms and carried him off. When they reached it, Ratchet looked up and squawked. “Not you too!”

“Me too? Who else is here?” Optimus laid down on the nearest free medical berth. 

“Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Prowl, Jazz, and everyone else who accompanied you except Manners!” Ratchet ran over with a scanner. “I’m theorizing it’s some kind of poison. It seems that everyone who went to Shockwave’s party is coming down with this. I’ve contacted Senator Shockwave and he and Megatron are both fine, along with five of the Seekers, but Starscream has been struck as well.”

“Is there an antidote?” Prime questioned.

“I can’t even locate the poison!” Ratchet cursed, taking a sample of Optimus’s energon. “Hopefully my analyzer can locate a common denominator.”

One of the Seekers, Pharma, entered the medbay suddenly. “Ratchet, I have that energon sample you asked for from the Intended.”

“Put it on the counter, I’m running Prime’s.” The grumpy medic snapped. “Do you have any ideas?”

“The Intended is plagued by headaches, a high engine temperature, and pains throughout his cockpit.” Pharma described.

“That doesn’t match any of the other symptoms.” Ratchet groaned. 

“Unless the poison has a different effect in Seekers. We do have a faster metabolism than other frames, so perhaps it’s progressing faster.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.” Ratchet sighed. “Everyone else just has tank aches on an unbelievable level.”

“Tank aches?” Pharma’s wings shot up. “Ratchet! Get a tank siphon!”

“What for?”

“I think I know what the problem is.” He grabbed the siphon. “My apologies, Prime, this will not be pleasant for you.”

After Optimus’s tank had been partially siphoned, he felt much better. “But what was wrong then?”

“You over-ate.” Pharma explained. “Solid food is different from distilled energon, your tanks need to process it longer.”

Ratchet face-palmed. “I should have thought of that!” He got on the comm to the other physicians across Iacon while Pharma returned to Starscream’s berthside.

 

Optimus returned to berth along with the other afflicted members of his staff and recharged peacefully for the rest of the night.

In the morning, he had some business to do before Starscream was supposed to arrive to have afternoon energon with him. Senator Ratbat and his committee were trying to nail down the new budget for the next vorn. 

It was a very long, frustrating cycle of circular reasoning. In the end, Optimus wasn’t sure exactly what it was he had agreed to except that more funding was allocated to the New Year Festival because a tax hike on luxury goods was bringing in additional revenue.

And if any of that made sense to anyone, more power to them.

It was with eagerness that he waited for Starscream to arrive. When Manners swept in, he expected the fussy butler to be escorting Starscream, but Sunstorm stepped through and bowed to the Prime. “Optimus Prime. The Intended will not be joining you today, as he is too ill to leave Shockwave’s Mansion.”

“What’s wrong with Starscream, Sunstorm? Didn’t he get his tank siphoned?” Optimus frowned behind his mask. 

“Pharma performed the procedure, yes.” Sunstorm explained. “But it was not so simple a matter. The Intended’s fever has broken, but his processor is still aching and he is afflicted with shakes and rattles in his vents.”

“Then it wasn’t just over-eating.”

“No, it seems not.” The golden Seeker folded his servos and bowed. “By your leave, I must return to the Mansion. Pharma has isolated the Intended, Seekers only, and I must help him.”

“I see. Of course, don’t let me keep you.” Optimus frowned. “Tell Starscream that I’m thinking of him and ask if I would be welcome.”

“It is not a pretty sight, Prime. You may wish to stay away.” Sunstorm warned the young Prime. 

“I will come, especially if he doesn’t recover by tomorrow. Ask Manners to give you some flowers-“ And he still had to chew Prowl out for that hideous arrangement. “-Actually, take these.” He stood and went to the arrangement that his servants insisted on renewing daily and lifted it out of the water. “If I had time, I would make a bouquet for him, but I understand you are in a hurry.” 

Sunstorm nodded and accepted the bouquet, setting it into his elbow. “Thank you, Prime. I will be certain he knows your prayers are with him.”

“Good afternoon, Sunstorm.” Optimus saw the golden Seeker to the edge of the Palace, where he took off, with the bouquet in his cockpit.

Starscream… ill or poisoned? Clearly not in enough danger to merit too much fuss or Optimus would have heard before now, surely. He would probably be well enough to attend Elita’s planned tournament at the end of the decacycle, more was the pity. Optimus hoped he wouldn’t be expected to fight if he was weakened by some illness. 

 

Of course, it was soon all over Iacon that Starscream was ill and the Seekers had cloistered him. The rumor mill began producing immediately, ranging from the ridiculous to the reasonable. An example of the ridiculous: Starscream had been carrying on an affair with the Decepticon leader Megatron and has been cloistered because he was giving birth to the tank’s child. Complications in the birth had forced him to remain in berth while his valve was re-lined after the over-large sparkling tore him nearly in half. Not only was this rumor a stupid little piece of unthinking gossip, it was anatomically impossible since Seekers did not give birth from their valves like grounders did. An example of the reasonable: Starscream had been poisoned by someone in Shockwave’s Mansion and the Senator was interviewing and investigating every member of his staff.

Optimus knew the reasonable was reasonable because he paid a visit to the Senator’s Mansion the next morning only to find himself surrounded by Decepticons who must have been newly shipped in, who escorted him from room to room, made several scans of the energon Shockwave offered him before he was allowed to sip, and guarded the Intended’s door jealously and even required him to be identified by Pharma before he was allowed into the sick room.

Starscream was sitting up in berth, which was a promising sign, and the rattle in his vents had all but faded. “Optimus. You’re here.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” Optimus approached the berth. Starscream looked terrible: His optics were too bright and his paint was peeling. “Are you recovering well?”

“Yes. I’m just sorry that so many of Shockwave’s staff are losing their jobs over this ugly business.” The Seeker sighed. “Well, not losing their jobs, but they are being transferred to his Kaon estate.”

“You don’t think it was one of the servants then?”

“Optimus, I have lived here in this mansion for the past four decacycles.” Starscream replied. “And I haven’t been served so much as rancid oil. Why would one of Shockwave’s servants attempt to poison me now?”

“Opportunity perhaps. All of the guests at your Kibuki over-ate and made themselves sick. Perhaps they hoped your own illness would be put off as being a complication in your tanks.”

Starscream shook his helm. “I am healthy as a horse and, barring the very ill, a bout of over-eating has never harmed anyone. No, it was not a servant from this house.”

“If you are certain, I suppose I must bow to your opinion.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. From now on my meals are to be prepared entirely by another Seeker- a Nightwish from Vos. He just arrived last night.” Starscream sipped his cube. “He has an adorable sparkling. Of course, he’ll be living in a children’s school nearby.”

“I look forwards to meeting him.” Optimus sat on the edge of Starscream’s berth.


	42. Chapter 42

Optimus called Prowl to his office. Looking up from his datawork, he noted the black and white Praxian’s body language. He had his helm tipped forwards slightly so that he was looking at the dark variegate desk more than the Prime. “Ah, Prowl. Thank you for coming.”

“What do you need, Prime?” Prowl stepped forwards to just the other side of the desk. 

“I was hoping you could help me understand exactly what happened with the bouquet last evening.” Optimus explained, setting down his datapad. 

Prowl pressed his lipplates together. “I’m sure I can’t. I ordered the bouquet as requested, to be composed of lilies, camellias, and ranunculi.”

“Yes, but who was the blind mech who decided the colors?” Optimus questioned. “Yellow and Orange can be interesting, even beautiful, but not in such an array and intensity.”

Prowl hissed in through his vents. “With all due respect, you did not specify color, Prime, so I chose for you.”

Optimus sighed, letting his helm fall into one servo. Here was the heart of the matter. “Prowl, I would think it would have been obvious that I wanted you to use the same colors that were used in the arrangements at the Senator’s own Mansion.”

“Well it wasn’t to me, Prime.”

Optimus looked up. “Why are you so determined to make Starscream lose his temper, be frustrated, and generally uncomfortable?”

“I do no such thing, Prime. I simply go about my duties without pandering to his every whim. Do you expect me to?”

“Prowl there is a difference between business as usual and outright harassment and your behavior crosses that line!”

“Then I would ask that you replace me, my Prime, because I won’t serve a Seeker.” Prowl’s lipplates were hard and firm.

Optimus let his helm sink onto his servo again. “Prowl. What exactly is the problem here? Why are you so determined to hate my Intended?”

“He’s a Seeker. As a race they are barbaric, difficult, and need to be babied along. When you don’t baby them, they become cantankerous and difficult, and I don’t want to deal with that here in the Palace. The very idea of a Seeker being here, where Sentinel once walked, is unbearable!” Prowl’s vents were labored when he finished his rant. 

Optimus stared at him, optics deep and disappointed, and didn’t say anything for several long moments. “You’re obviously under a great deal of strain, Prowl. I am not going to insist you retire… yet. But I want you to do some deep spark-searching, because I will be bonding to Starscream. And Starscream will be walking these halls, where Sentinel walked, because I am not Sentinel. I am Optimus. And if you have a problem with that, you will certainly have to leave. I imagine that Lord Megatron knows someone competent in the position, even if I would rather you stay.”

Prowl nodded, lipplates firmed close. “Good evening, Prime.”

“Good evening, Prowl.” The young Prime rubbed his forehelm as his major domo stormed out.

The door swung open again. Maybe Prowl was trying to get in the last word. “Did you need something, Prowl?”

“I am not Prowl, my lord.” Manners replied from the door. The mild butler was carrying a tray with a cut crystal cube of triple-filtered high grade on it. “I thought you might appreciate a night cap.”

“Thank you, Manners.” Optimus opened his mask, sipping at the drink. “I do appreciate it.”

“Please, don’t think too harshly of Prowl. He needs the world to be black and white- strictly. In his mind, if Sentinel- who was his friend- was his friend then Seekers are his enemies. He will not adjust easily to the change.” The butler advised him. 

“I just wish he wouldn’t take it out on Starscream. That bouquet was absolutely hideous, and now he’s going to be made fun of for it for vorns.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Manners tapped his lipplates. “Though it is true that Iacon has a long memory for gossip, there is a limit.”

“Perhaps.” Optimus sighed into his high grade and drained the rest of it.

“In any case, there’s no harm done in an ugly bouquet. The engagement continues and all is well.” Manners soothed the Prime. “And tormenting yourself over these reports will do no good. Please, for my peace of mind, seek some recharge.”

“This is why Starscream likes you.” Optimus muttered.

“Excuse me, my Prime?” The butler was halfway to the door.

“Nothing, Manners.” Optimus dropped the datapad to the desk and stood up. It could wait for the morning. “Good night cycle.”

“Good night cycle, my Prime.” The traditional butler walked down the halls with his shoulders squared while Optimus retired to his own chambers. Manners walked his rounds of the Palace, ensuring that all was in order before he retired for his own rest.

The Palace intimidated visitors. Its arching doorways and vaulted ceilings made it seem somehow both open and closed, while the shadows cast by the large columns stretched across tiled floors. When Manners had been Bumblebee and Cliffjumper’s age, he had been brought to the Palace by his Creators. They had entrusted him to the butler and he had been apprenticed. It was from those long-gone days that this habit of wandering about when all was dark and quiet had come. 

He slipped down a hall lined with doors to various sitting rooms when he spotted a crack of light where there shouldn’t be one. With quiet pedes, he slid close. Perhaps it was some industrious servant, polishing the glass of the windows or a noble who had fallen asleep with a datapad in hand.

But no, there was conversation from inside. Two mechs were speaking to each other. “…managed to sprinkle the bouquet, but it didn’t work. Somehow, he’s recovering.”

“There’s no harm done. We’ll find a different way. You’ve done well, Rodimus. Go now.”

Manners shrank back into the shadows as Rodimus and a different Praxian he had seen but didn’t know emerged from the room. The light faded once more and their pede-steps echoed as they left. Manners treasured the memory up in his spark and examined it. Rodimus and Prowl were relatively close and Prowl’s hatred of Seekers had certainly fetched up in the young guard. But did that hatred extend to poison?

Either way, it merited careful watching. The butler continued on through the Palace, still thinking. When he reached the long, moonlit concourse, he sensed another EM field. Freezing, he scanned the room with his optics. It appeared empty. “Hello?”

There was no answer, but the sound of rapid pedefalls moving away gave Manners pause. He gave chase, trying to catch a glimpse of his quarry at the very least. When they reached one of the Gardens- more of a Park really- he lost the other. The pedesteps that had rung on the variegate floors were muffled on the dark grass and the intruder managed to escape the butler.

Manners pulled up short, thinking of what to do. He should have called out Ironhide and had the Palace put on general alert, but he hadn’t thought to do that during the chase and by now the intruder had surely fled over the walls and out into the city. Questions echoed in his processor, wondering if the mysterious intruder and the Praxian’s conversation was in any way linked.

His recharge was not calm that night.


	43. Chapter 43

Starscream made a full recovery within another cycle. “Of course, I am, Optimus. I’m hearty as a turbofox.” The Seeker assured his Intended as they strolled through the red, rust sea garden. “Though this is hardly the most romantic location. In fact, it’s down right ugly.”

Optimus couldn’t help but agree. The rust sea garden wasn’t his favorite. It was all the same color with the occasional scraggly plant. According to Prowl, this over-large “garden” had been Sentinel’s Consort’s. A rather… interesting femme named Sanguine, who had decorated her wing of the Palace and torn out the old gardens- which had been Vosnian in design- all to her own tastes. Starscream had asked to see the gardens that day, to get an idea of what he was falling heir to.

Optimus had avoided this particular garden. He had taken a peek at the West Wing and seen only red, black, and frankly frightening artworks. No, there was no tank for that kind of place in the Prime. He would leave it to Starscream to sort out and do with as he saw fit. Perhaps it could all become the subject of the next charity auction, a donation to do some good, assuming that even nobles who wished to brag about their wealth would want any of it.

“No, this will all have to go.” Starscream decided, looking at it with a critical eye. “But it’s not as bad as it looks. Aside from the ugly paint, I think all of the old variegate and most of the layout is the same as when it was Vosnian. See how the tiers have been painted and distressed to look like the Rust formations? Well, most of them still look like the tiers in Vosnian gardens. If we take off the paint and polish the stone beneath back up to a shine, I bet it will begin to look like a Vosnian garden again in no time.”

Optimus nuzzled him with his mask, optics shuttering. “It’s refreshing to hear you so optimistic. I’ve had to listen to Prowl and Mirage going back and forth over the new tax laws Senator Shockwave wants to enact. A break for those with an income below a certain point on the income tax and the head tax.”

“That’s sensible.” Starscream nodded. “It doesn’t make sense to charge people who can’t afford it to pay ten percent of their income in taxes.”

“I agree. According to Prowl and Mirage, though, if we don’t have that extra revenue from the full-strength taxes, we’ll have to cut back on aid projects in order to keep the military in order.”

“Then why not slowly begin to decrease our military strength?”

“That would make a fuss over putting soldiers out of commission and taking away fair jobs from those same poor people we’re attempting to help.”

“Then roll them over into law enforcement. This city is a series of slums and crime havens. More police, more order, better jobs, everyone is happy.”

Optimus stopped, thinking of it. “That might be a workable solution. I’ll talk to Prowl about it and hope he’s in a reasonable mood.” Not that he had been ever since Optimus had spoken to him about the hideous bouquet. 

“So, he was behind that awful bouquet.” Starscream made a face. “We burned that thing as soon as the guests were away.”

“Yes. It seems I will have to be careful not to let him have any more loopholes where you’re concerned.” Optimus sighed. “I wish it wasn’t so.”

“Perhaps you should replace him.” Starscream suggested.

“I hope I won’t have to.” Optimus admitted. “I believe that if he can get used to you and the other Seekers, his opinion will change. And if his opinion can change, then perhaps the opinion of others around us will change.”

“Total visibility theory.” Starscream nodded. “And having an all-Seeker or all-Decepticon staff would not help that.”

“No. In fact, it would lead to accusations that I was being sequestered and influenced by Lord Megatron and Senator Shockwave.” Optimus sighed. “Though it would be nice to be able to trust my servants completely.”

“Ah. The Praxian plot among your guards?” Starscream questioned.

“Sideswipe has brought me some rather disturbing news.” Optimus walked on through the garden. “It seems that Rodimus, who delivered that monstrosity, had sprinkled a poison over its petals.”

“Ah. So, it wasn’t one of Shockwave’s servants. That’s good to know.” Starscream frowned. “And deeply unsettling.”

“You must have breathed it in when I gave it to you.” Optimus clasped his digits. “I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Starscream dismissed it. “We’ll just have to keep a closer optic on the gifts I receive.”

“I hate this. I’m so afraid that we’ll be living in fear in our own home.” Optimus admitted. “Either that or poor Manners will have to take care of everything.”

“My Seekers will help us.” Starscream replied. “And there will be more. Shockwave keeps nattering on about finding an entourage for me. I’ve been resisting the idea since it seems my Seekers are adept at finding new members of the entourage for themselves.” He chuckled.

Optimus nodded. “What is it now? There’s Pharma, who’s found you a court musician, and Sunstorm, who picked an artist… Then Rewind will be your Archivist- and I think he’d be pleased as pickling to know that you would offer him the permanent position. Pharma is your physician, Sunstorm your personal priest. What more could you want?”

“Shockwave natters about gardeners and florists often, as well as some others.” Starscream chuckled. “I don’t think he understands that I intend to make my life as simple as possible right off the bat and help you to prune yours over time.”

“Shockwave has good, though elaborate taste.” Optimus agreed. “Perhaps you should allow him to find you some new members of your entourage, but not all that he wants to. Find a happy medium.”

“I agree, and I do think it would be a good idea to have some Decepticon and Seeker servants. Even more visibility is a good thing, and it will be nice to know that we have some we can rely on for anything.”

“Blast Off and his conjux, Onslaught, would be good to have around.” Optimus agreed. 

“Onslaught is too involved in other operations, but Blast Off wouldn’t mind transport work.” Starscream shook his helm. “Though Brawl isn’t the sharpest knife in the block, he has a simple philosophy in life: Shoot first, protect the target.”

“Then again, he might have a twitchy trigger finger.”

“Agreed. Drift will be staying here until our ceremony at the least. I’ll keep an optic on him, he might be useful. A Praxian Decepticon is a rare thing.” 

“I was surprised to learn that there was one.” Optimus admitted. 

“They are not common, but there are a few.” Starscream explained. “Praxian culture permits parents a great deal of power over their young ones. People like Drift are often rebels looking for a cause. Drift, though, was an orphan. Hook found him in Praxus’s underlevels, addicted to Syk and doing whatever it took to buy it, and took him in.”

“And now he does wirework and manages stages.” Optimus summed it up.

Starscream chuckled. “He’s also a fair hand with a Vosnian Katana. I had a servo in training him. When he was new to the Decepticons, we had a sort of antagonistic friendship.”

“Did you feel a kinship to him… because of the way your professors treated you?”

Starscream nodded, optics distant, and Optimus put an arm about his waist, cradling him close. Behind them, Rewind caught everything on camera, though he still didn’t understand more than a few words of their conversation. Most of his job appeared to be recording huge spans of random information and mining it for the few gold nuggets that would make the finished product absolutely beautiful.

He had picked up his own name and several others during the conversation as well as the word “Anworu” which was servant in Vosnian. He could only assume that they were discussing staffing issues, perhaps planning for after their marriage. He hoped he would be allowed to stay on permanently. Interesting things seemed to happen around the Intended, though some of them weren’t very nice. He had some footage of the Intended recovering from the attempted poisoning and could only feel sympathy for the Seeker. At least he had recovered. The little data slug didn’t want to think of what could have happened if he hadn’t.


	44. Chapter 44

Elita was furious. Of course, these cycles, she was always furious. Obsidian followed after her as she stormed through the Carcerian Embassy, doors slamming behind her and servants ducking out of her way. They were preparing for the tournament, which was to be held at one of Iacon’s sports arenas, and there had been a mistake in the order for prizes. They might have to substitute items from other areas. It was all combined to make Elita madder than a stinging Circuitfly.

“Remember.” She ordered Obsidian. “If everything does not go well at the tournament, I will not be pleased.”

Obsidian bowed. “Yes, my Lady. But the prizes, my lady? What should we do?”

“It will be the Carcerians who win most of them.” Elita sat down in her thronelike chair. “Bring items from my wardrobe if you must. But if that Seeker wins a single prize… Ugh!” She made a noise of frustration. “I hate them all!”

“I know, my Lady. You will take your rightful place. As prophecy dictates, so we abide.”

Elita nodded and waved him away. “Have our chef bring me something as far from that disgusting meal the Seekers prepared as possible.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Obsidian bowed again and left. It was best to humor her in a mood like this.

 

Sunstorm knelt on a cushion, meditating while Sunstreaker painted. The artist was catching up on his back log while he had a chance. Though that wasn’t stopping him from occasionally dipping his brush in a gold paint and leaning over to put a few extra touches on a small portrait of Sunstorm in his meditation posture, with his lower legs tucked under him and wings folded elegantly downwards.

“You know, if you paint me too much, everyone is going to know your spark, Sunstreaker.” Sunstorm told him, optics shuttered.

“Can I help it? I’m spark-struck whenever I see you.” Sunstreaker sighed.

Sunstorm’s optics cracked open and their ruby gleam suffused his faceplates just a little bit. “Oh, Sunstreaker…” He shook his helm, and smiled. “Keep working on the mural of the Intended’s banquet. I so want to see how it looks when you finish it.”

“Your wish is my command, my Seeker.” Sunstreaker went back to painting on the mural. 

Sunstorm shut his optics again and went back to his meditations.

Sunstorm sneakily dipped his brush in the gold paint one more time, and finished his portrait of the gilded Seeker with a single stroke.

 

Sideswipe stepped carefully along the corridors, carrying a vessel of mercury for energon. Racemaster had called another meeting and Sideswipe had volunteered to bring something to spice the energon cubes the conspirators always shared.

He sighed. He hated being among them. They were bigots. He might have clocked them a good one in any other circumstance.

“The things I do for the Primes.” Sideswipe sighed. 

 

Meanwhile, Chromia and a professor named Quark argued intensely. “You told me you would give me the information! I have your money, so where’s my proof?”

“And I told you, I was made a better offer.” Quark stuck a finger in her chestplate. “And it isn’t sound business to stick with a lower bid.”

“Why you little…” Chromia grabbed him.

“Delegate Chromia? What’s happening?” Ironhide interrupted, voice rumbling gently over the blue femme. 

Brainstorm, a Seeker graduate from the Academy, rushed forwards and embraced Quark. “Quark, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, Brainstorm. Quite all right.” Quark patted his wings. “This lady was just expressing a grievance. One that I can do nothing about.”

“Oh, I just bet you can’t, you slag-“ Chromia growled.

“Delegate.” Ironhide warned. “Why don’t we go get you a drink and cool down?”

Chromia allowed herself to be dragged off. “That little…”

“I know, easy.” Ironhide took her to a bar, Macadams, and ordered her a Blue Hammer. “So, what was that all about?”

“Oh, that slimy microscope is being a little-“ She swore a blue streak as dark as her drink. “He agreed to give me some important information and then reneged.”

“That really stinks. Did you get anything in writing?” Ironhide questioned, wanting to help the blue femme.

“No. And I didn’t give him any money either. But I really needed that info.”

“What info is it, may I ask?” Ironhide questioned. “If it’s something scientific, you might be able to get it out of the archives.”

“It’s not. It’s just something for Windblade. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Chromia sighed. 

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about it.” Ironhide patted her back. “You did your best.”

“Too bad it wasn’t good enough.”

“There will be another way, you’ll see. Try the archives, or the news service. I’m sure someone knows what you need.” Ironhide sipped his own drink.

“Thanks, Ironhide.” Chromia sighed. “You’re all right, you know?”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Ironhide tipped his glass to her. “Feel better?”

“Yep. So, what do you want to do after we finish up here?” Chromia smiled at the red security chief.

“Well, I was going to the range to work on my aim.” Ironhide admitted. 

“There’s a range here? I’ve been looking for one!”

“Well, it’s for Police and Guardsmen only, but I suppose they’ll make an exception. You’re a Delegate, after all.” Ironhide grinned. “So, you’ll join me?”

“Pit, yes.” Chromia tossed back her drink and Ironhide followed suit. “So, gonna show me where this range is?”

“You’re on. Best shot gets dinner on the loser.”

“You’re on.” Chromia agreed and they transformed to race to the contained shooting range.

 

Brainstorm fussed over Quark. The two had been in a dedicated relationship for some time now, and Brainstorm was starting to get antsy over bonding. “That femme was out of line, treating you like that.” The scientist huffed. “I ought to have given her a piece of my processor, I should have.”

“No, you shouldn’t, Brainstorm. You’re too hot-helmed for your own good.”

“You’re probably right.” The scientist sighed. “But I don’t like to see people pushing you around, Quark. It’s not right.”

“She was just upset. I promised her some information, but couldn’t deliver. It’s no trouble.” Quark pulled a box of energon candies out of his subspace and handed it to Brainstorm. “Here. I got you a present.”

“Oh, Quark, you’re so sweet.” Brainstorm cradled the box. “You know, Quark, you’d be a wonderful Creator.”

“Oh, Brainstorm, we don’t have time for sparklings.” Quark groaned. This argument again.

“But when will we have time? It doesn’t get easier to carry when you get older.” He pouted. 

“I know, Brainstorm, but I’m a professor and you’re a scientist and we just don’t have the time.” Quark sighed, patting his thigh. “Aren’t you content with what we have?”

“I am, Quark, you know that. But I think… things are changing. The Prime is bonding to a Seeker. Maybe… Maybe we should think about finally having our own.”

“Times aren’t changing that fast, Brainstorm. We’re tolerated as it is. Any more and I could lose my position.”

The Seeker scientist sighed. “You know best, I suppose…”

“I do.” Quark took his servo and kissed it. “Now, please, I need to do some work, Brainstorm.”

“All right. I love you.” Brainstorm kissed his helm and let him be, at last.


	45. Chapter 45

Starscream, Pharma, and Sunstorm stretched in preparation for the tournament that afternoon. It had been a long decacycle of last-minute intensive training and sparring with each other and other Decepticons. Lord Megatron himself had fought a few duels with Starscream to make sure he was right on the edge. It would be humiliating if the Intended didn’t win at least one prize.

The invitation they had finally received had given strict instructions: They needed a representative for each of ten events: Sharpshooting, Fencing, a Martial Arts tournament, a foot race, and several variations on these themes including several relays that had been looped into one event. In all, Shockwave estimated that they would have to bring at least twenty to fully represent their faction and the Intended. 

The athletes would be performing under Starscream’s banner instead of as Decepticons, since it was supposed to be the Intended’s party. However, Lord Megatron had received a separate invitation to the Tournament and assembled his own team, though he had made it clear that his team would partake in only a fraction of the events, while Starscream’s had to go through them all.

Thundercracker and Skywarp were gently sparring, keeping themselves on the edge. Metalhawk was relaxing against a pillar and watching Drift as he went through his Tai Chi poses. 

Starscream pulled himself up to his full height and watched as Drift held a pose towards the sun before bringing his servos back down in the first position. “He’s a rather elegant sight, isn’t he?”

“Praxians always are.” Metalhawk looked askance at Starscream. “But I was appreciating his discipline rather than his looks.”

“Sure you were.” Starscream rolled his optics. “I was just pointing out the fluidity of movement between positions.”

“Sure you were.” Metalhawk chuckled. “How’s the Prime?”

“Nervous. Ironhide’s been putting him through the ringer.” Starscream sighed. “I wish he had more time before this to dedicate to practice.”

“Do you think he will handle himself as befits his position?”

“Optimus will participate with honor and show the Carcerian’s what it means to be the Prime.” Starscream replied, hedging.

“You’re nervous he won’t be able to win any of the events.” Metalhawk gave him a side-smile. He was getting better at reading the Intended.

“I am… worried that the Carcerians will interpret his lack of skill in the combat arts as weakness.” Starscream admitted. 

“If he comes up against one of us, we could make sure he wins the event.” Metalhawk reminded Starscream.

“No. He would never forgive me if I cooked the books, in his favor or not. He thinks this is going to be a marvelous game. He’s not taking into account how the other delegations will see today’s events.” Starscream shook his helm. “He’ll have to win his events on his own merits. Who knows? He might surprise himself.”

“Very well, Intended.” Metalhawk checked his chrono. “Time for a final polish and to array ourselves.”

“Of course.” Starscream clapped his servos and the courtyard of preparing athletes and combatants came to attention. “It’s time for everyone to clean up. Shockwave’s servants will help you all with your livery.”

There was a shout of acknowledgment and the party split, going to their various places to prepare themselves.

Starscream polished the bright, silver paint on his limbs and wings. It shone with a mirror-like brilliance: A song of war was painted across him in Vosnian glyphs. His optics had been lined with coal and his lipplates darkened to the same color, but he wore no other make-up. Pharma and Sunstorm had similar verses, though less of them, across their own wings and down their arms. 

Shockwave had had to scramble to have cloaks made with a sigil inscribed on them for Starscream. In the same way, Starscream had had to scramble to think of an appropriate sigil. They had decided on a stylized Seeker holding a sword in one hand and a flowering branch on the other. In Vosnian fashion, this had been condensed down to a stylized flower inside a ring with a sword striking through the ring. It made for a fierce symbol.

This symbol took pride of place in the decorative paint that covered their party. It was inscribed in contrasting colors on every member’s front and back. There would be no mistaking Starscream’s champions.

Starscream felt a swell of pride as he looked over them. The best the Decepticons had to offer, gathered into his unit. It was going to be a glorious day.

Blast Off was waiting in the courtyard with Rewind and Sunstreaker already inside the Shuttlemech. Chromedome was coming along as well, this time, but he would be meeting them at the stadium Elita had rented. The ride over was quiet, the mechs restraining their excitement, fueling up with energon filled with athletic additives, and looking forwards to the tournament.

 

Optimus felt tired. Ironhide had given him a rest day before the tournament, and he had spent it relaxing with Starscream, playing strategy games that the Seeker steam-rolled him at or recharging. But he just wasn’t at the same level of physical fitness as the Seeker and the Matrix’s influence only did so much.

Ironhide was still merciless. “Up and at ‘em, Prime. You’ve recharged long enough.”

“Ironhide…” Optimus groaned. “I can feel every strut in my frame.” He was napping on a chair in the training room. “Let me alone.”

“No can do. I need you in top condition at that tournament.” Ironhide pushed him off the chair. Jerk. 

Optimus scraped himself up off the floor. “I hate you.”

“Good. That means I’ve been doing my job. Come on: Stretches, a realignment, and you’ll feel great.” Ironhide encouraged him up to his pedes for some stretching before handing him over to an attendant masseuse for a realignment, which also turned into a brief nap as his struts and cables were fine tuned. When he woke, Ironhide had brought a cube of energon laced with gentle stimulants that helped the Prime wake up.

As a result, he was fully aware as he sat in the back of their transport and waved at the populace. News traveled quickly in Iacon and it was a fact anywhere that seeing a leader- no matter who it was- sitting in the back of an open vehicle and driving through the streets was an event. It was even better when he was followed by a guard of trim and polished mechs, frames gleaming in the sunlight.

The forcefield around the transport was translucent, so he could see every mech along the streets as they waved, cheered, or just went on their way with a passing glance. 

Elita had managed to rent Iacon Stadium, on the outskirts of the city. The large, bowl shaped structure was as much a work of art as it was a sports building. Gleaming with glass sidings and with its rims propped up with flying buttresses and columns, the whole thing managed to look like someone had overflowed translucent energon from a vessel and it was pouring down onto the ground in cylindrical lines. 

Orion Pax and his friends had occasionally gone to the stadium on weekends and after work was over. The crowds were always large and loud, with mechs cheering or jeering depending on what was happening on the pitch. The tournament sounded as if it would be very different from the games that Orion used to watch.


	46. Chapter 46

Optimus stepped into the arena and found it had been transformed for the tournament. Banners, each with a competing team’s symbol, had been hung around the pitch. The tiers of seats were not empty by a long shot. Nobles who were not taking part in the games filled every seat and Optimus saw that Sunstreaker and Chromedome had been given a booth with walls that acted as a telescope, focusing on different areas of the pitch.

Rewind and Blast Off were on the green together. The tiny memory stick was sitting on the shuttle’s shoulder, staring all around with wide of optics as he took everything in and recorded it. The two were close friends now, though Chromedome had nothing to be jealous about. As Optimus watched them chatting while Rewind recorded, he realized that they represented two extremes of Cybertronians: The very large and small. If only all frames could get along as well as they did.

He spotted Starscream across the pitch. Ironhide and the other members of the Prime’s team were settling into the pavilion marked with their symbol. The Seeker was decorated with shining silver paint and speaking to Drift, presumably about the first event. There was nothing stopping Optimus from walking across the green to see his Intended.

…Except his syrupy-sickly hostess, Elita One. “Optimus! How good of you to join us!” She blocked his path, her own symbol painted onto her chassis.

“Elita One. I could hardly refuse an invitation to an event in my honor.” The Matrix pulsed, mirroring his dislike as he spoke to the unpleasant femme. It seemed as if even Primus was disagreeing with her presence.

Elita preened. “I hope you enjoy the tournament today. It’s a tradition on Carcer for celebrating nuptials.”

“I’m sure I will.” Admittedly, as much as he despised the sight of Elita, Optimus was looking forwards to the events. Feats of strength and skill were both interesting to watch and fun to participate in. He didn’t expect to win anything, but he would play to his best ability. “I understand that shockball scrimmages are the first event?”

“Naturally. As you can see, the goals have already been set up. We’ll do a preliminary set of matches first, then finals in the afternoon and the second to last event will be a face-off.” Elita explained. “I hope you’ve been made familiar with the rules?”

“Ironhide arranged a few practices.” Optimus still had the aches in his hip joints when he thought of them.

“Good.” She clapped her servos, pleased. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Excuse me, as Captain of my own team, I must go over some last-minute strategy with my team members.”

“Of course.” Optimus sighed. Starscream had disappeared into his own team’s pavilion and Ironhide was making noises trying to call him back without calling him. Curse Elita One.

 

Starscream was shaking his helm. “We might have to write off the scrimmages. I wouldn’t put it past Elita to rig the raffle so that her team goes up against ours before we get a real feel for the game.”

“We have a good chance. All young Seekers play wingball, and this isn’t that different.” Skywarp reminded him, playing with one of the large shockballs.

“It depends on what the referee decides.” Starscream agreed. “If we can use our wings, we won’t have a contest, but if we have to only use legs and frame, we’ll have to do three times the work the others have to just to keep the ball from bouncing off of our wings.”

“This is slag.” Thundercracker was reading through the final list of events. “None of these look like anything that wings would be so much as advantageous in. Well, except for the fights. The last event.”

“We have those in the bag.” Skywarp chuckled. “The only one who could beat us would be Megatron and he’s not participating.”

“I’m glad you’re confident, Skywarp.” Starscream chastised him. “But I’m not. These are nasty people we’re dealing with.”

“They may be giants, but we’re Seekers.”

“Regardless, stick to the strategies we’ve been practicing and don’t get killed.” Starscream warned.

“Now I know you’re overreacting.” The purple Seeker chirped. “Let’s get out there and show them how to play Shockball.”

 

The teams gathered on the green to look up at the scoreboard as the games were drawn. There were eight teams participating in the shockball scrimmages and the teams were named after their represented colonies: Vos, Praxus, Carcer, Iacon, Caminus, the Decepticons- an exception to the naming convention, Crystal City, and Tetrahex. 

The names began lining up on the scoreboard in groups of two, each one representing a match: Iacon vs. Caminus, Tetrahex vs. Carcer, Praxus vs. Vos, and the Decepticons vs. the Crystal City. It was a stiff match-up, but they had a chance. 

“Well, it looks like Elita isn’t cooking the draw.” Thundercracker commented.

“Unless she wants to go up against us in the final match and chose the most inexperienced team for us to face in the preliminaries.”

“You’re too much of a pessimist, Starscream.”

“I’m a realist. There’s a difference. Ugh, she’s coming this way. Time to play dumb and cheerful. Pharma? Want to translate?”

“I had better, when Skywarp tried he almost burst out laughing at what you were actually saying.” Pharma sighed.

Elita reached them. “Good luck, Intended.”

“Go to Pit, Slagsucker.” Starscream replied in Vosnian.

“The Intended thanks you for your greeting. May the best team win.” Pharma translated.

“Also, bend over backwards and eat turf.” Starscream added.

“The Intended appreciates your effort to make us comfortable.”

“To the insulting extreme.” Starscream nodded soundly with a large smile on his face.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it.” Elita’s smile was just as fake as Starscream’s.

“I hate you.” Starscream sweetly pronounced.

“Good luck, Elita.” Pharma smiled, placing a hand on Starscream’s arm and steering him towards the field the rest of the team had gravitated to with the Praxians. “Good Primus, Starscream, you’re going to be the death of me. Someday, she’s going to pick up just enough Vosnian to know you’re insulting her.”

Starscream snorted. “She wouldn’t unbend her spine long enough if it was her life on the line.”

“Oh, Starscream… I know you have a brilliant mind, but sometimes you’re overconfident. It’s not a strength.”

“That’s why I have you, my worrypeel.” Starscream sighed, brushing their wings together in a familial gestured. “Now come on, stop your picking. We have a long day ahead.”

“Of course. Is there another kind of day?” Pharma sighed and they crossed the green to take their places against Praxus.

Both teams were inexperienced, and they picked up quite a few tricks from each other. Ultimately, the referee decided that wings were allowed for use in battering the balls about. The shockballs, though, were no fun to touch with their sensitive wings, since their charge tended to spike just as they hit an obstacle. There was much groaning and all six Seekers were rubbing their overcharged and sore wings by the time they won: 7-4.

“I never want to do this again.” Skywarp moaned.

“We have to. Twice.” Starscream sighed softly.

“Frag.” Thundercracker summed up all of their feelings in a single word.


	47. Chapter 47

The next event was a pede race, no alt-modes. Drift was their competitor, the fastest runner of them, but he was up against other Praxians as well as the Carcerians. Fortunately, it was an endurance race rather than a sprint, which would work against Blurr, who was the Praxian competitor.

Metalhawk spectated at the finish line. As the least athletic member of Starscream’s team, though he was still taking part in the gladiatorial gauntlet, he was assigned to keeping an optic on the judges, making sure everything was fair. Not that the Seekers suspected Elita-One of cheating or anything. It was just good to make sure all the bases were covered.  
They suspected she was cheating so hard… 

Anyway, Metalhawk was keeping an optic on the judges to make sure all was fair and right and he watched as the two Praxians- of course Blurr and Drift were in the lead- had something of a battle for first place. Blurr was fast, but he had had to budget his strength, whereas Drift’s long lope had been steady all through the race. Now, on the last quarter, he was letting himself loose.

It was a hard struggle for the Praxian racer that Drift was pushing. They ended up almost neck and neck as they raced towards the finish line. Metalhawk began to become excited as he watched. “Come on Drift!” He called out across the pitch.

Drift didn’t turn his helm and Metalhawk immediately heated, hoping his call had been lost in the cheers of the other spectators as they called for Blurr or Drift depending. He didn’t normally call out at sporting events.

Blurr won by a crest. The length of the race had worked against him, but his superior speed and racing experience beat Drift in the end. Still, it was a good fight and Drift was quite happy with his award for second place: A curving dagger that he could strap to his hip next to his katana.

“Good job out there, Drift.” Starscream congratulated him. “Nice hustle.”

“I wish I had been able to push myself just a little bit more!” Drift sighed, accepting a cube of chilled energon. “I could have won!”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Blurr was going to take that event by storm no matter who he was up against. If it had been just a little bit longer, though, then yes, you would have beaten him.” Sunstorm reminded, patting the Praxian on the shoulder. “Now rest up for the next scrimmage.”

Drift ran inside the shelter to relax while Starscream smirked at Metalhawk. “Get a little excited at the finish line there, Metalhawk?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Metalhawk kept his face straight. He knew Starscream had a harder time reading him than other Seekers because of his wing mutation, but their Intended had his own particular talents.

“Of course you don’t.” Fortunately, he let it pass. 

“Where’s Thundercracker?” Metalhawk looked around for the blue Seeker. He had vanished.

“Doing a little recon using his special trinket.” Starscream replied. “Skywarp is still upset that he doesn’t have one.”

“He does realize that the point of Thundercracker’s trinket is to work and not play?”

“I think he’s stuck on the idea that he could become even more of a prankster with one. Perhaps when we no longer need the information gathering, he can finally have one so he’ll shut up about it.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good idea. He would probably use it at a social event and cause an incident.”

“You’re right, of course. I’ll have to find him something to distract him.” Starscream sighed, rolling his optics. “Why couldn’t he have been a sweet, quiet little Seeker?”

“Like yourself?” Metalhawk couldn’t help but jab.

“Be quiet.” Starscream gave him a sardonic look and a wry smile.

“Oh. Prime at six o’clock.” Metalhawk looked up over Starscream’s shoulder.

“Starscream? I wondered if we could have a moment.” Optimus spoke, seemingly having appeared out of nowhere. Starscream jumped about half the convoy’s height. “Sorry, did I sneak up on you?”

“It’s okay. I needed a reminder to be on my guard.” Starscream sighed, landing easily. “What is it, Optimus?”

“I just wanted to come over and wish you good luck. I didn’t get a chance before the first scrimmage.”

“I saw Elita was distracting you.” Starscream nodded.

“I really don’t like her.” Optimus sighed. “Shall we have a quick snack before the obstacle course?”

“I had better not. That’s my event.” The petite Seeker sighed. “Sunstorm and I are both going to participate in it.”

“I’ll be watching from the finish line. Jazz is taking that one.” Optimus told Starscream.

“Good. I like a challenge.” Starscream humorously replied.

Optimus chuckled. “Jazz is determined to give you one, though he’s really looking to show up one of the Carcerians. There was a disparaging comment made about his paint job.”

“This is going to be interesting then.” Starscream looked over and caught sight of Elita One, staring at them with outright jealousy and annoyance. “Optimus, do you mind doing something for me?”

“It would depend on what it is.” Optimus was cautious when he saw the gleam in Starscream’s optics. “What do you need?”

“I need you to embrace me.” Starscream replied. “Nothing too scandalous, but something to let that glitch over there know I win.”

“Of course.” Optimus chuckled, some mischief coming into his blue optics. He reached out and gently pulled Starscream to him, servos chastely on the Seeker’s upper back, but the grip amorous and heavy. Starscream’s jets gave an involuntary purr as he enjoyed the raw power he could feel coursing through the convoy. The Matrix had gone all-out with Optimus’s reformatting.

Elita looked away, sneering. The Seeker wanted to play hardball? Then they would play hardball. She bent down and whispered something into one of her servant’s ears. Let’s see those Seekers get through today with their dignity after this.

Starscream smirked to himself, seeing Elita’s expression, then kissed Optimus chastely on the faceplate and flounced away to line up for the obstacle course.

Jazz and Starscream were side by side in line. It was a timed course, meaning that each competitor would run through it and their times would be compared at the end. Moonracer was representing Praxus and Chromia Caminus. Starscream didn’t expect to win this one. His wings would be a disadvantage, but he intended to give the other contenders a run for their money anyway. On his other side, Sunstorm was working on loosening his wing joints so he could pull them in farther. He had been chosen for this event because, in spite of Starscream’s small size, he was the one who could make his wingspan the smallest.

“You know, I’m enjoying myself.” Jazz told Sunstorm. “Hey, do you mind acting as translator?”

“Of course not.” Sunstorm smoothly looked up. “What do you wish the Intended to know?”

“Shall we make a small bet on the results of the race?” Jazz proposed. “I’m in the mood for a bit of friendly competition.”

Sunstorm turned to Starscream. “What do you think he means by a small bet?” The golden Seeker questioned in Vosnian.

“I don’t know. Ask him.” Starscream replied.

“The Intended wishes to know what you mean by a small bet. What should be the stake?”

“How about… Hmm. How about this collar against one of those sashes the Intended wears?” He touched the decoration at his throat.

Sunstorm turned. “It’s a small enough bet, but I don’t think we have much of a chance of winning.”

“It’s an acceptable bet, and we need to get Jazz on our side in any case.” Starscream agreed. “Tell him we accept.”

“The Intended accepts your wager.” Sunstorm turned back. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” With that, it was Jazz’s turn to run the course.

“I hope he isn’t offended if one of us wins.” Sunstorm considered.

“He won’t be. Jazz isn’t that kind of mech.” Starscream disagreed.

“Of course, Intended. You must know best.” Sunstorm placidly replied.


	48. Chapter 48

Starscream didn’t win the obstacle course, but he took a close second. Sunstorm carried away the prize.

Elita was almost apoplectic with rage as she dressed her own contender down. The Seekers giggled as they watched and shook their helms. No one wanted to work with her and they pitied those who did.

Still, Elita’s team began to clean up over the next few challenges. Starscream won the sharp-shooting event by sheer luck. Prowl took the balance challenge by a nasal vent. But everything else went to the Carcerians.

“Do you think they’re cheating?” Starscream asked Metalhawk as they prepared for the next scrimmage. It was Optimus’s team against Starscream’s. Now that was going to be a politically charged match. Not where Optimus was concerned, but in the eyes of the public. Starscream and his team wanted to win, would play to win. But it wouldn’t be wise to win by too wide of a margin. The Senators and nobles would think Optimuys was being railroaded by a mech far out of his league. Only trouble could follow from that perception. Trouble Starscream was not willing to deal with or allow to fall on their helms. 

The team’s huddle was a tight, terse conversation. “We can’t win this one.” Metalhawk stated.

“We have to if we want to have a chance of truly showing Elita One up.” Drift responded.

“But if we win, Optimus will look bad.” Skywarp pointed out. “That won’t be good for any of us and what we’re trying to do here.”

“Agreed. If we win, we win by one goal only.” Starscream decided. 

Optimus, of course, was still thinking of it as a grand game. He was having an absolute ball with the whole event. Except for Elita. No one was having a ball with her. It was both adorable and frustrating to see the Prime cheering on members of his own team and Starscream’s as suited him at the moment. Of course, he wasn’t the only one cheering across factions in the crowd. Still, there was an air of gravity about everyone else that he just lacked. This was all good fun to him.

In a perfect world, it would all be good fun to everyone.

Then again, this was why Starscream was the perfect mate for Optimus. He knew his flaws, knew his talents. They would compliment each other and become an unstoppable force for the betterment of Cybertron-!

“Starscream! Are you awake!” Skywarp yelled in his face.

Starscream reeled and cursed. “Skywarp!”

“You were zoning out again, Starscream. What do you think of when you do that?”

“Shut up.” Starscream muttered. “Come on.” They took their places on the field, the ball in the middle. The referee stepped up and raised his whistle to his lips. The two teams crouched, optics meeting across the field. Optimus shot Starscream a twinkle of his optics and Starscream sighed through his nasal vent, flashing him a roguish grin back. Then, the whistle blew and both sides sped towards the ball.

Starscream slid past Optimus for a kick, but the ball went wild as he dodged the Prime’s slide tackle and the Iaconian Defenders caught it. Prowl sent the ball speeding back down the court to where Metalhawk elegantly swiped it back to the turf and the match continued.

Optimus and Starscream ended up neck and neck as the two midfielders battled to control the ball. Optimus hit it with a wild back kick that sent it careening out of bounds. Starscream’s team got to throw it back in and Sunstorm took the lob. The game resumed with Prowl and Metalhawk going helm to helm as they fought for the ball. Starscream and Optimus covered each other, each trying to intercept the inevitable pass. Prowl, though, broke from Metalhawk and made a kick for the goal that Drift caught by the tips of his digits and punted away as far as possible.

The ball landed down the pitch near the Iaconian goal and the defenders made for it at once. At the same time, Starscream, Metalhawk, Skywarp and Thundercracker charged down the pitch to try and gain control of it. The scuffle that broke out ended only when the whistle was blown and the quarter called: 0-0.

Optimus waved at Starscream from his end of the pitch as his team huddled together to discuss strategy. The Prime was having the time of his life here with his Intended. 

“All right. They’re fast, so we have to be precise.” Jazz told the team. “I’ll switch to a forward position and try to help Sideswipe put pressure on them. Wheeljack, you’re staying at the midfield, but you’re going to go on the attack. Prime, I want you on the goal.”

“Right.” Optimus nodded, fully prepared to use his bulk to block any stray shots.

“I want good passes, gentlemechs.” Jazz instructed. “Make sure there’s someone there before you kick.”

“Right.” Sideswipe and Wheeljack agreed.

“Good. All right, get out there and make Iacon proud.” They split up and moved over the field, facing down the Seekers once again. Jazz noticed that Starscream had had Sunstorm move up from defense to midfield as well, putting all of the Seekers but Pharma in offensive positions. Fast and agile Drift, who was an excellent catch and kick, was in the goal, crouched and at the ready.

“Game on.” The saboteur whispered as the whistle blew. Both sides went for the ball, throwing everything into getting it, gaining control over it, and putting it where it could do the most damage to the other team.

Starscream took the ball and raced down the court with Skywarp flanking him. They were cut off by Ironhide, who stole the ball by a hair and sent it flying back. With a screech of frustration, the Seekers retreated, pursued by the Iaconian forwards.

It had been a long, hard match, the score was still tied 0-0, and the game moved into Sudden Death. Neither side was willing to yield, and the strategy so far seemed to be strong on offense and with a shell defender set, when suddenly, Starscream flicked his wings and clicked to his Seekers. They moved into an entirely different formation, moving back all players except the two forwards to defense, inviting Iacon’s team to take them on in their court.

Jazz was only too glad to oblige as the team charged forwards, distracting, dealing with defense, being altogether slaggers. Suddenly, Sideswipe had the ball. He charged down the pitch, straight for Starscream. His optics searched, looking for an open player, as Starscream flared up his wings, waiting for him.

No one was open. It was now or never. He reeled back and kicked the ball straight at the Seeker in front of him. Starscream dove out of the way, revealing Drift in the goal. It wasn’t an easy catch for the Praxian, but he grabbed the ball and hung on for dear life, making a run for the edge of the goal box and dropping back his leg for a hammering punt of a kick.

Suddenly, the defense vanished. All six Seekers and assorted other mechs headed straight down the field, steamrolling those Jazz had left behind. Thundercracker leapt into the air and knocked the ball down and to Skywarp, who passed it to Sunstorm, Starscream, and then Pharma, who side knocked it right behind Optimus. Vos won 0-1 and the final whistle blew.


	49. Chapter 49

“Good game.” Optimus grinned at Starscream as they shook servos. “I don’t think Jazz will ever manage to close his mouth. How did you coordinate that so well?”

The Seeker Captain chuckled as he looked over at the Iaconian strategist. “Wing language. We discussed Jazz’s strategy and our own, right under your nasal vents.” He nodded to Drift. “Drift can understand wing language, so he knew I was going to give him the shockball when Sideswipe charged. Everyone else was poised to charge the other end of the field as soon as Drift punted.”

“And you completely steamrolled us with that last move.”

“It’s a good thing it was Sudden Death when we did. There’s no way that would have worked twice.” Starscream chuckled. “But it didn’t have to, in the end. I can only hope we can show the Carcerians the same fight.”

Elita’s team had, of course, run their opponents into the ground and the game had been all but over by half-time, with the Carcerians in the lead by four dozen goals to two.

“You’ll use their arrogance against them and drive them back, my fierce Seeker.” Optimus stroked the back of his helm in lieu of a kiss. “I know it.”

“I’m glad for the vote of confidence, Optimus, because I’m not sure I agree.”

“Well, think of it this way. At least you won’t have your advisors harping at you for ages if you don’t win at least one event.” Optimus spoke with a wry humor that belied the solemnity in his optics. Starscream pressed his lips together, remembering that he had been thinking about just that issue earlier and dismissed its effects on Optimus since the Prime had been acting as if this was all a game. Now he realized that the Prime did know how serious these games were.

“You’ll win an event, Optimus. I’m sure of it.” Starscream flickered his wings at Pharma and Skywarp, instructing them. “So don’t despair.”

“I don’t think even you can bless me with the skills I’d need to defeat the Carcerians. I’ll only be partaking in the fights later on now that I’m out of the scrimmages.”

“My Seekers and I can deal with the Carcerians. You can defeat us easily.”

“I can’t defeat you, though.” Optimus squeezed Starscream’s servo. “There’s no need to lie to make me feel better, Starscream.”

“I’m not lying.” Starscream answered hautily. “I know you’ve been training and you can defeat anyone except for me. You might get in a lucky punch.”

“Luck doesn’t generally seem to be on my side.”

“Oh, buck up!” Starscream flapped his servos in expiration. “I hate to see you self-deprecating and thinking nothing can go right! It isn’t like you!”

Optimus chuckled and took one of the servos, kissing it. “My apologies, Starscream. I didn’t mean to be depressive.”

“Don’t do it again.” Starscream sniffed. “You’re Optimus Prime. You do not snivel like a smacked sparkling whose been denied a treat!”

“I think you mixed your metaphors there.” Optimus chuckled again. Ironhide called for him from across the pitch. “Ugh. I suppose that’s Ironhide wanting to go over some final strategies for the duels. I’ll see you when I get my aft kicked, I suppose.” 

“You won’t get your aft kicked.” Starscream swatted his arm. “Now go get ready.”

Metalhawk approached the Intended as Optimus walked away. “I noticed your wing signs. What are you planning?”

“I’m not sure, Metalhawk, but I hope it works. It’s going to rely on all of us competing in that fighting competition. Even Blast Off and Sunstreaker.” Starscream determinedly trotted towards the stands and took to the air. 

“But Blast Off isn’t even participating. He’s just here to help Rewind. And Sunstreaker is painting!” Metalhawk followed as quickly as he could.

“They’ll help. They have to. We have to make sure that Optimus wins the event.” Starscream landed beside Sunstreaker. 

Sunstreaker looked up from his canvas. “Intended?”

“I need your help. You were a gladiator, correct?”

“I was. Before I took up my true calling.” Sunstreaker gestured to the canvas, a dynamic sequence portraying a clash between Iacon and Vos’s teams. Starscream was charging towards Optimus with the ball while the Prime blocked the kick the Seeker had aimed and punted the ball back. It had been part of the grueling exchange before Sudden Death was called.

“I agree. You’re wasted fighting, but I need your help. The whole of the Vosnian team is scheduled to take part in the duels, however, we need to ensure that the Prime wins.”

“I see.” Sunstreaker stood up. “So, you’re expanding the Vosnian team to anyone who can throw a punch who accompanied you, in the hopes that we can thin out the Carcerians and ensure that the Prime goes up against someone who will let him land a good hit?” He cleaned the paint off of his digits. “It sounds like cheating…”

“I know it does, but-“

“Which sounds exactly like how the fights at the arena are rigged. Come on then. Get me into some livery.” Sunstreaker set down his cleaning cloth and headed for the green.

Blast Off agreed easily and Skywarp reported that Ironhide and the Iaconian team had come in on it as well. That meant that there were two teams dedicated to getting the Prime into the winner’s circle. Starscream could only hope it would be enough.

But… There was always one more. And this one he couldn’t just send someone else to do. With a flick of his wing, he summoned Sunstorm to his side. “Sunstorm, I need you to act as translator.”

“Of course, Intended. Where are we off to?”

“The Camien Delegation. We need to speak with Windblade and convince her to help us. The Camiens may be largely peaceable, but these are athletes.” Starscream sighed, not looking forwards to it. Windblade was sweet, but her prattle could be weaponized.

“Will Windblade help us?”

“If she won’t, there’s no harm she can do. We have to make sure Optimus wins this event. Otherwise, it will be a planetary embarrassment, for the both of us.”

“Agreed. We must convince Windblade, therefore we will. May I suggest we get her one-on-one and that you speak directly to her?”

“Do you think she can be trusted to keep my mastery of Iaconian secret for now? I am not ready to reveal myself yet.”

“I think we can convince her. She was not chosen because she’s stupid, Starscream. Even if it appears that way.” Sunstorm replied, pointing out the obvious.

“Agreed, Sunstorm, but being intelligent does not make her trustworthy. If anything, it makes her less so.” Starscream sighed, touching his servo in thought. “She might choose to use her knowledge against me.”

“How? So you spoke High Iaconian to her, so what? You could have been taking lessons. No one can expect you to remain completely dumb in the Assembly.” Sunstorm pointed out as they closed in on the Camien tent. The sigil that had been chosen was a face marked with the distinctive red face paint that Windblade wore. It was a religious symbol, Starscream recalled, and not mere vanity.

Windblade looked up cheerfully when the two Seekers approached her, stood up, curtsied in a clumsy imitation of the Vosnian, and opened her mouth to speak in the Seeker language: “You whore!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not above a cheap cliffhanger.


	50. Chapter 50

Starscream and Sunstorm’s mouths dropped open and Starscream snapped back without thinking. “It takes one to know one!”

Windblade smiled at them, wings perked and looking pleased with herself. Her expression fell when she saw the Seekers’ body language. Sunstorm made himself speak in a trembling voice, shocked and trying to control his anger. “Lady Windblade, I cannot believe you mean this insult.”

“Insult? It was a greeting! I think it was…” Windblade touched her lipplates and nibbled at them. “What did I say?”

“You… You made an accusation concerning the Intended’s virtue.” Sunstorm struggled to explain the statement without outright saying anything. “I cannot think you meant it, hearing you speak now.”

“I did what?! I must have pronounced the greeting Elita taught me wrong!” Windblade was horrified, putting her hands over her mouth. “I never meant to-“

Of course, Elita was behind this.

Starscream cut in with a raised hands and tapped his digits. Sunstorm regained himself. “The Intended forgives your indiscretion. Is there a place where we may speak privately?”

“Of course. Right this way.” Windblade was clearly still flustered by the mistake. She had been so eager to please and be nice to the Intended that she had swallowed whatever Elita said whole. Now, she regretted that. Her source was clearly shifty.

Starscream calmed himself with difficulty. The insult struck a little too close to home for his taste. It felt personal whenever someone called him that. At last, they were out of view of prying optics and audials.

Starscream sighed. Here came a leap of faith, how he hated making these. “Lady Windblade, we need your help.”

Windblade’s jaw dropped. It was a simple sentence, one that a beginner should have easily managed, but it was the most Common Iacon that Starscream had ever said in front of her. “Uhhh…”

Sunstorm and Starscream waited for her to gather herself, wings twitching as she took this new information in. “This is surprising, Intended. I had believed you to be… ignorant of Common Iacon.”

Starscream waved it off. “It was a necessary deception. One I hope you can forgive.” 

“Of course, but… why? Why pass yourself off as weaker than you are?”

“Because it allows my enemies to speak in front of me with impunity. On that note, I would recommend that you not trust Elita One as far as you can throw her.” Starscream advised gently. “She is no one’s friend.”

“…She was the one who taught me that “greeting.”” Windblade sighed bitterly, still ashamed and embarassed.

“For future reference, this is the Vosnian greeting you wanted to use.” Starscream trilled a few glyphs that sounded far more musical and soft than the sharp-edged thing Windblade had been taught. 

“Thank you, Intended. I won’t be deceived again.” Windblade drew herself up and arranged herself with a flick of her wings. “You said that you needed my help?”

“We do. Desperately.” Starscream laced on the charm and the drama for the naïve young ‘bot. “As you may have noticed, Optimus hasn’t yet been able to lay claim to one of the awards.”

“Yes, Intended, of course. I imagine it’s the only thing everyone is talking about.” Windblade’s lipplates took on a grim line. So, she understood the seriousness of the issue as well.

“It does seem so.” Starscream agreed. “I have a plan, but it requires help, from many servos.” He explained the basic idea, flood the matches with fighters who were on the Prime’s side in the hopes of thinning out the Carcerians enough that they could drown them out of the matches. “With your faction’s help, we should have enough to succeed.”

“Of course. I’ll tell my fellows.” Windblade agreed. “We’ll all help you push forwards.”

“Good. That makes it three groups, plus Megatron’s mechs.” Starscream agreed. “Unfortunately, Megatron himself will not be joining. It would not be in good sport, given how advanced he is compared to the other warriors.”

“Agreed. It would be difficult for Lord Megatron to take the proverbial dive in the twelfth round.”

“Well, with you on our side, hopefully no one will have to.”

“Your faith is refreshing, Intended.” Windblade smiled. “And I am glad that we may speak this way. I would love to get to know you.”

“Perhaps in private, we can speak again.” Starscream agreed.

“I look forward to it.” Windblade bowed and returned to her tent to inform them of the change in plans. Starscream and Sunstorm beat their own retreat across the green. 

“Well, that went well. She agreed to help us and there’s no sign of betrayal.”

“Agreed. It seems your leap of faith has paid off.” Starscream nodded. “Though she would probably have agreed to help us even with you translating.”

“Perhaps, but she was definitely more effected by the personal contact.” Sunstorm pointed out. “It makes me wonder how much you could affect others just by speaking to them without me or Pharma there.”

“I know I could better approach people without the medium of an interpreter, Sunstorm, that isn’t the point.” Starscream sighed. Sometimes, his underlings could be frustrating even when they were just trying to help. 

“I agree with you, Intended. For this time before the Ceremonies, you need the protection of a language barrier, but afterwards…”

“Afterwards, I can be free to say that I can speak Common Iacon to anyone I like and they won’t be able to do a thing about it.” Starscream hissed. “Though I’m not looking forward to the Ceremonies.”

“I promise, they’re not as invasive as they sound. I only wish I could preside over them instead of the Priests of Iacon. It will be difficult enough with them. If something comes to light to make trouble.”

“They wouldn’t dare refuse me the ceremonies.” Starscream cut Sunstorm off. “And let’s not talk about it anymore. The mere thought of being re-sealed is… ugh.”

“If it’s any consolation, that segment will not be made public.” Sunstorm teased.

“I should hope not! I draw the line at opening my panel in front of all of Iacon!” Starscream had to resist the urge to clap his servos over his intimate panels. Humiliating enough to be exposed to a leery bunch of old mechs to poke, prod, and ultimately seal up again, he would die of shame if it was covered throughout Cybertron.

Sunstorm giggled like a sparkling and skipped ahead of him into the tent. Starscream groaned slightly under his breath and looked up at the heavens as if asking for patience. Spare him the over-enthusiasm of his fellow Vosnians. 

The three factions readied themselves, added the new names to the lists of duelists, and the Carcerians were outnumbered three to one. Starscream almost wished it was a battle royale so they could see who exactly would win in a battle of groups and strategy. A series of duels was nothing like it. 

The duels were not dissimilar from a Vosnian duel. There was a ring laid out, the two mechs would face off inside of it. The battle was over when one surrendered, was knocked unconscious, or was thrown from the ring. It would be a battle that the Seekers would have to dig their heels in for. 

The beginning matches went predictably. Their allies weeded out the Carcerians and Blast Off- who ended up facing Optimus- didn’t have to take a dive. Optimus put him in a submission hold and kept him there until the shuttle held his servo up, indicating surrender. Starscream was genuinely proud of his to-be mate as he exchanged lightning fast sallies with Blurr before tripping up the speedster mech and landing on top of him, tossing him out of the ring before he could regain his pedes. As he did, he looked up and saw Elita considering him. The merciless Femme had come up against one of her own in the lots and had destroyed him.

Their optics met and both knew, this would be a deciding contest for all of them.


	51. Chapter 51

And they didn’t have long to wait before Elita and Starscream faced each other. With all of the other teams eliminated, it was time for Carcer and Vos to go helm to helm. Starscream silently watched as Elita and her team stretched, being sure to show off the strength of their struts and joints. The green was being re-striped and the goals re-aligned. Metalhawk and Thundercracker were supervising them.

“Do you think we can beat them?” Sunstorm quietly asked. 

“I don’t know, Sunstorm. I just don’t know.” Starscream replied, in the same tone. “I’m thinking…”

“About what?”

“About how to make sure we can beat them. Sunstorm, come with me. Act as translator again.” Starscream led him across to where the Carcerians were showing off.

Elita looked up and stood, sickly sweet smile stretching across her face. “The Intended! How good to see you. What brings you over here?”

Starscream spoke in Vosnian. “Elita, who is the strongest of your men? I have heard of the feats of the Carcerians, but the stories… I cannot believe them.”

Sunstorm relayed the message to Elita, wondering what game Starscream was playing.

“Hah! These are the strongest mechs of Carcer! Mechs, show off your paces!” Elita called. The other mechs began picking up and even tossing weights to each other at her command.

“Impressive.” Starscream commented. “But I have heard that the strength of one Carcerian is enough to lift two mechs, and that I cannot believe.”

Elita laughed harshly and walked over to two of her teammates. Gripping each about the knees, she hoisted them into the air.

“Amazing. But I had heard that all Carcerians can do this feat. This, I simply cannot believe.” Starscream continued and Sunstorm continued to translate. The gold Seeker kept glancing over at the Intended, unable to believe what was going on. Why on Cybertron…?

Elita chuckled and her mechs began showing off, lifting each other in pairs and even triples. They began trying to out-do each other, and soon they were over-stressing their limbs.

Then, Sunstorm saw. Of course, Starscream had been a very clever Seeker indeed. By preying on the Carcerians’ pride, he had managed to convince them to exhaust themselves showing off. It seemed to be working as well. Sunstorm could see that the mechs had beads of coolant on their frames.

“They truly are amazing.” Starscream hummed. “It must come of being a mining colony. It’s a hard life, it would produce tough, strong warriors.”

“Agreed. Primus gives his children the means to adapt wherever he plants them.” Sunstorm chipped in, nodding.

“Do you think we have a chance of facing them, Sunstorm?”

“With Primus and you on our side, Intended? It should be others who have so many doubts. Your cleverness and the blessing of our divine Creator practically guarantee success.”

“Thank you, Sunstorm, your high opinion helps me a great deal.” Starscream turned his helm when the referee blew his whistle, signaling the Carcerians to stop their showing off. “And it seems the time to prove our worth is now.”

“Agreed, Intended.” Sunstorm called a greeting to Elita as well as a wish for good luck and the two flyers returned to the opposite side of the pitch to rendezvous with the rest of their team.

Starscream gathered them about for one last strategy meeting. “We have to play a clean, decisive game, mechs. We have to assume the referee will be biased.”

The mechs nodded and then scattered. Starscream had set them to be heavy on defense against the Carcerians. If they could just keep Elita’s team from scoring, they could make it through the game and move into their tactics for sudden death. 

Yeah. Keep the Carcerians from scoring. So deceptively simple it couldn’t possibly be that easy.

Starscream managed to gain possession of the ball first and immediately, he noticed something. The shock strength on the ball had been turned up to almost agonizing levels. If this thing touched any of his mech’s wings… it would make the whole limb numb. 

He kicked the ball deep into the defensive zone, following it up with Skywarp at his back. Obsidian stole it and sent it back down the field and the Seeker forwards whirled and shot back down the field to where Pharma had leapt slightly into the air and whirled, slapping the ball back down the field. Immediately, his whole frame seized and he crashed down into the ground, clutching the wing. 

Starscream rushed to his aeriemate’s side while the ref blew the whistle and signaled the players to stop while the injured mech was tended to.

“It was so strong… I can’t feel my wing, Starscream.” Pharma shot him a frightened look. “How are we supposed to handle that thing?”

“I’m not sure.” Their wings were an important part of the Seeker’s defensive strategies. “For now, you’re benched. Rest up and get that wing back in function. I’ll call in Blast Off to take your place.”

“Starscream… Can we win this one?”

“We will. We must.” Starscream told his aeriemate. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

The Intended’s processor was hard at work as he went and fetched the gentle shuttle to replace Pharma.

Blast Off nodded grimly. “If the ball’s been set that high, we can’t touch it with our wings. It seems Elita figured out a way to turn our greatest strength into a weakness.”

Starscream nodded unhappily. “I have an idea, but no one’s going to like it.”

He was right. No one liked it as Pharma and Starscream bound in their teammates wings with thick lengths of strong fabric. It would keep their wings out of the way, but it also made it more difficult to move in all ways and stressed the joints of their back struts. Still, a numbed wing would take a player out of the game faster than a sore back, so they grudgingly lined up to bind in their most important limbs and hopefully survive this conflict.

Starscream went first, feeling the twist of pain that never quite came undone as Pharma maneuvered his wings into place. “Well, if anyone ever asks for proof we’re desperate…” He joked. That got a few chuckles from those waiting their turns.

The team reassembled on the pitch, ducking to their positions and prepared, but their morale had taken a serious hit and they could never forget the discomfort at their backs even as the struggled to focus only on the ball and not letting it past them.

 

Jazz, Prowl, and Prime watched the action with their arms folded tightly over their chests. “Why did they bind in their wings?”

“The ball’s shock level has to have been raised. Did you see what happened to Pharma when his wing touched the ball?”

“This isn’t good. Starscream doesn’t have a very deep bench.” Optimus worried. “If they lose any more players, they might not be able to replace them.”

“This is slag!” Jazz exclaimed, tossing his servos in the air. “There has to be something we can do.”

Prowl shook his helm, setting an arm around Jazz’s shoulders. “The Carcerians are playing dirty. I don’t like Starscream or his Seekers, but I hate that Elita person. She doesn’t strike me as trustworthy.”

“Agreed.” Optimus nodded. “Well, Prowl, what should we do?”

Prowl sighed and thought. “I think perhaps we should organize a defection in case of emergency.”

“Good thinking. Will you arrange it?” Optimus questioned, looking down at his major domo. 

The Praxian winced slightly as he realized the Prime was really asking if he could be trusted to carry out the task faithfully. “Yes, Prime.”

“Good.” Optimus watched as Obsidian trampled Sunstorm. “Hurry.”

Jazz winced and cupped his servos protectively over his bitlet. “… I don’t think I want to go out there, though. Not with my little one on the way.”

“Of course not, Jazz. No one will ask that of you.” Optimus set a servo on his shoulder. “Go rest in the stands.”

In the meantime, the Prime squared his shoulders as Sunstorm was carried off the pitch and Starscream began arguing with the referee about his decision not to card Obsidian, Thundercracker at his elbow to translate. If there was ever a time to act, it was now.

 

“…Ridiculous not to realize that was completely deliberate, you slag-sucking, flightless little glitch!” Starscream accused the referee.

Thundercracker was almost angry enough to translate the insults for the referee’s benefit, but he kept to the important part of the message, keeping his emotions in check, though his expression and EM field were both as thunderous as the sonic boom he could whip out to plow down these mechs if he so chose.

“Are you accusing me of bias?” The referee hissed back at the Seeker’s, servo inching towards his yellow card.

“If the pede-cover-“ Starscream was interrupted by a large servo on his shoulder. He looked up to find Optimus at his back. Instantly, he relaxed, though his outrage was still evident in his field. “Optimus. I didn’t see you there.”

“I think you’re going to need an extra player. Do you think I’d make it onto the team?” Optimus jokingly questioned. 

Starscream smiled brilliantly. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you volunteering.”

“Oh, I think I have some idea.” Optimus squeezed the shoulder. “You look better with your wings free, by the way, but your silhouette is charming nevertheless.”

“Flatterer.” Starscream sighed. “Well, there’s nothing to be done. This over-done glitch is biased and he can’t be swayed to fair play.”

The Seekers backed down and returned to their half of the field, rearranging themselves. Optimus took up Sunstorm’s half-defensive mid-field position.

It was a powerful moment. The Prime at his back, the enemy before him. Allegiances clear, Vos prepared to face her adversary once more.


	52. Chapter 52

From there on out, it was no-holds barred. Megatron stepped in to replace Blast Off after Strika threw an elbow strike into his hip that nearly dislocated the joint. Ironhide replaced Drift in the goal after the Praxian had been kicked in the faceplates.

It had been a petrifying segment of the game. Obsidian had almost broken their defenses completely and the Seekers had been swarming him trying to get the ball. Drift had dove for it and clutched the ball to his chestplates while Obsidian tried to kick it again. His kick had missed and flattened Drift’s nasal vents again. And STILL the referee refused to take him out of play!

Sunstreaker stepped in for Metalhawk, whose wingswords couldn’t be bound in and were vulnerable to the outright cheating of the Carcerians, and play continued, vicious as ever.

Starscream found himself helm-to-helm with Elita more and more often. She was trying to do something specific and he and his teammates were doing their utmost to ensure she didn’t manage it. Optimus in particular was showing a protective streak as he raced along at Starscream’s side whenever the Seeker made a sally for the Carcerian’s goal. 

“Thanks.” Starscream told Optimus at half-time. The Prime was clutching his knee and Ratchet was fussing over him.

“It’s really nothing, Ratchet. Just a dent.” Optimus told the medic and reached out, taking Starscream’s servo. He switched to Vosnian. “That kick was meant for you. It would have broken your knee joint.”

Starscream nodded grimly. “I’m a good deal tougher than Elita thinks. You sit out. You need to heal for the rest of the duels.”

“And leave you to face that glitch alone?” 

Starscream patted his facemask. “You’re sweet, love, but I’m far from alone, and we have the advantage now.” The score was 1-0, Vos leading. Starscream had managed to score with a lucky fluke when he pummeled the ball forwards after Strika kicked Optimus’s knee. The Prime had blocked her strike against Starscream with his own frame. The nasty femme had been carded immediately. It would seem the ref’s nerve broke when it came to the Prime being fouled on. “You focus on what’s important here.”

“You’re important here, love.” Optimus covered Starscream’s servo with his own. “Be careful.”

“I will be. Always.” Starscream promised. Another half a klickcycle to go. Surely they could hold the score for that long, especially with how tired the Carcerians were becoming. Elita had a deep bench, but it was quickly becoming clear that so did Vos as Chromia marched over, faceplates tight. 

The sky blue femme snapped a salute. “Chromia of Caminus reporting for duty.”

Starscream considered her and spoke to Optimus. “Thank her for me and tell her she’ll be taking Thundercracker’s position. He’ll be joining me as a forward.”

Optimus nodded and turned to Chromia. “Thank you for joining the Vosnians. You’ll be taking Thundercracker’s defensive position.”

“Of course.” Chromia took Thundercracker’s spot and Thundercracker moved up to Optimus’s place. 

Carcer found itself staring down Iacon, Vos, and Caminus all at once. It only became more intimidating when Skywarp had to be pulled out and a Praxian named Knock Out took his place. Four cities against one. It seemed more than just the Prime were horrified by the outright cheating Elita and her mechs were doing.

Optimus watched from the sidelines as the ball was released once more and Starscream rushed forwards towards destiny with a recovered Pharma and Thundercracker at his side. There was a lurch deep in his tank and he had the awful idea that something terrible was about to happen to his love.

Elita raced out at the forefront of her own team and stopped as Starscream rushed forwards towards her. She aimed out a kick as Starscream lashed the ball into the air for a side-hip pass. 

The ball was bounced, Elita hammered out her twisting kick, Pharma took the ball, Obsidian missed Pharma as he slipped beneath the other mech’s block, and the ball landed in the goal.

And Starscream went down, clutching his abdomen, where his tanks were located. Optimus stood up as the two teams gathered around the agonized Seeker. He limped onto the pitch and pushed his way through the pack to kneel beside Starscream. “Starscream.” He addressed the Seeker in Vosnian.

Starscream groaned softly and planted a servo on the pitch, pushing upwards. “Gotta… Gotta get up…” He muttered to himself.

“You don’t have to, Starscream.” Optimus tried to encourage him to rest. “You’ll hurt yourself worse if you force yourself to fight back.”

“And if I don’t get up, she wins.” The Seeker hissed, forcing his knees beneath himself, then pushed upwards. He turned angry optics to Elita. “She isn’t going to win.” He tottered to his pedes and waved off the others’ concern. “I’m fine.”

Optimus took a deep in-vent. “Don’t die, Starscream.”

The Seeker turned his burning optics on the ref. “It’s the last quarter. There’s nothing they can do to win.” He hissed and took his place back on the pitch.

He was slowed down by the injury. It ached and burned in his side. He knew he had hurt himself badly, but at the same time, he knew he couldn’t stop – wouldn’t stop. He would go on until he had a chance to kick that smug glitch’s face in.

Elita seemed to sense this newfound rage feeding into his determination. She avoided his section of the field from now on, though the Carcerians re-doubled their efforts to push them back. It was still a near-titanic struggle every time the ball was in play. No one managed to sink another goal, leaving Vos the victor: 2-0.

The Vosnian team was presented with the prize for winning: A chest full of jewels of every kind. Starscream ran his servos over the gleaming gems, then selected several of them, handed them to his other Seekers and gave them instructions. The Seekers bowed and dispersed while Starscream picked out a special one.

Sunstorm bowed in front of Chromia as he presented her with a dark red crystal. “The Intended wishes you to have this, Lady Chromia, as thanks for your aid.”

“Thanks.” Chromia accepted the jewel. She hadn’t expected to be given a piece of the prize or be thanked, even through an interpreter.

Starscream approached Optimus and sat on the bench beside him while Ratchet fussed over his bruised side and dented tank. “Thank you.” The Seeker leaned on his shoulder, helm beside his.

“It was no problem. You would have done the same for me.” Optimus put his arm around the Seeker’s upper torso, keeping out of Ratchet’s way. “I wish you wouldn’t continue with the duels, Starscream. I couldn’t bear it if you were… Elita will try, you know. She’s… She’s crazy.”

“I can defend myself in a duel, Optimus. You’ll see. I’ll put her down fast and keep her there.” Starscream assured him, enjoying the arm that was cradling him. “And right after that, I’ll go home and get the rest that Ratchet’s going to prescribe.”

“Thank you, Starscream. I’ll accompany you there. After-parties aren’t particularly fun for me.” Optimus told the Seeker. “I’m a lightweight, after all.”

“Thanks, Optimus. I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”


	53. Chapter 53

Elita was eager for round two as much as Starscream. They faced each other down in a ring, each one cautious. They had seen their fight and neither wanted more of the other than was necessary. 

Starscream’s vents were labored, his side a sheer wall of pain. Elita’s joints had to be aching after both an intense weight session and an equally intense Shockball match. Neither was thinking of the next round, as others did when they sized up their opponents. As far as both were concerned, the only conflict that mattered was this one. 

Starscream made the first move, knowing he was fading. His strength would fail him if he had to fight for much longer, so he needed a slick, but fast take-down. As before, he assumed that the referee was biased and slid to the left, towards the ring and around. Elita whirled to keep him in view and easily dodged his feint, blocking his strike with her lower arm.

They danced back to the edges of the ring, having taken the other’s measure. Circling like predatory serpents, each watched for the slightest hint of weakness. Starscream knew he was on the defensive and he knew Elita knew it, so he had to find a way to trick her.

He clutched his side suddenly, spasming in mock pain and Elita lunged at him. In a flash, with a twist, Starscream hooked one of his pedes up between her legs and used her own momentum to toss her clear of the ring.

There was an abrupt silence, then the whole stadium burst into cheers as Starscream was swarmed by admirers, all of his Seekers, Megatron and his own, Windblade, and, of course, Optimus.

“Hey.” Starscream weakly smiled up at him. 

“You won.” Optimus picked him up gently. “Can you stand?”

“I’ll certainly try.” Starscream put his pedes beneath him and found that they shakily supported his weight.

Elita watched with a fixed and poisonous smile as Starscream was half-carried to a chair where Optimus doted on him while waiting for his next duel. She beckoned Strika close to her. “Strika, prepare a Victor’s Cup for the Intended.”

“Yes, First.” Strika growled and went to recreate the special drink. 

 

Starscream was enjoying the attention being lavished on him, even though his side was burning and Ratchet was cussing him out for fighting with it beaten so badly. “You have a ruptured tank. It’s a small one, and I’ve put a patch over it and given you targeted nanites.” Ratchet straightened, closing the Seeker’s side plating. “Primus! Do you have a death wish?”

Optimus rolled his optics and pretended to translate. “Ratchet says that he cares a great deal for your safety and he would hate it if you were injured permanently.”

“Thank him and tell him that I’ll be sure to take care of myself, and Pharma will make sure of that.” Starscream nodded to his aeriemate as he worked on re-shaping Sunstorm’s crushed pede. The Seeker had been stomped on in his own duel. It hardly mattered. Most of the hard-hitting Carcerians were out of the running, especially Elita, and Optimus’s victory was practically assured.

Optimus translated for Ratchet, who harrumphed. “See that you do! We can’t have the Intended dying this late in the season. We’d have to start all this nonsense all over again!”

And Starscream chuckled softly, leaning back into his chair. “You should go, Optimus. Your next duel will be starting soon.”

“I suppose-“ His words died in his throat as they looked up. Elita was approaching, a goblet of steaming liquid in her servos. “Now, what on Cybertron is this…?”

Elita dropped a curtsy. “Prime. Intended.” She held out the goblet. “I wish to present a Victor’s Cup to you, Intended. For your valor and skill.”

Starscream and Optimus exchanged glances. Was she sincere? How could she be after so long attempting to undermine the Seeker in any way she could? But, not accepting the cup, when outwardly it appeared so innocent… That could have ramifications. Any potential relationship with the people of Carcer might be destroyed. Starscream cursed his ignorance. Was a Victor’s Cup something sacred to Carcer? He just didn’t know, but they couldn’t afford to risk it. He would have Pharma monitor him for any trace of poison that evening.

Starscream accepted the goblet. It was hot and made of precious metals and stones. Slowly, he sipped the liquid inside. His sensors told him it was an enervating brew, rich in minerals, metals, and energy. He drained the cup of hot brew to the dregs and savored it. Nothing tasted wrong, or remotely like poison and he began to feel better instantly. “Thank you, Elita.” He murmured.

Optimus set a servo on his shoulder and looked up at her. “Starscream thanks you.”

“Of course. May it grant you strength.” Elita accepted the goblet back when Starscream offered it and she and her Carcerians retired to their end of the field.

“…I cannot teek any deception in their fields, Optimus.” Starscream told the Prime. “And it seems that I have been genuinely congratulated. I don’t know what to make of that.”

“Perhaps you have earned her respect.”

“Perhaps. Let’s hope so. We’re going to have enough enemies with the Council to deal with.”

“Agreed.” Optimus caressed Starscream’s cheekplate. “I suppose I should go win some respect of my own.”

“Go get ‘em, Ground-Pounder.” Starscream told his Intended as the Prime made for the ring.

Optimus fought well against his opponents and none of them had to take a dive to him, not as far as Starscream could see, at least. There were some moments where the Seeker was sure Optimus might lose a scuffle, as with Ironhide or Sideswipe, but Optimus put them on the ground and kept them there. He had a lot of body mass and his style was clearly unrefined, but he knew how to use his weight to his advantage.

The award for the winner of the duels was a crown shaped like a wreath of Cybertronian leaves studded with small, jewelbright birds made of gemstones. It didn’t fit on Optimus’s helm, not with his aerials in the way, but he held it reverently in his large servos and sat beside Starscream as the party commenced. Elita retired early, leaving Starscream and Optimus at the sideline to watch.

“What do you make of today, Starscream?” Optimus questioned, servo resting gently on the Seeker’s.

“A tiring, but altogether worthwhile ordeal.” Starscream sighed. “I can’t wait to get back to Senator Shockwave’s Mansion. Nightwish mentioned a special brew he was preparing for us when we return.”

“Nightwish has arrived?” Optimus remembered Starscream mentioning the Seeker chef. “Well, there’s no need to fear poison anymore then.”

“Of course not.” Starscream chuckled. “And Nightwish is very skilled. He’ll have something comparable to that Victor’s Brew, I’d bet my wings on it.”

“Do you suspect the cup was poisoned?” Optimus questioned.

“Oddly enough, no.” Starscream nodded. “I tasted nothing wrong with it and Pharma has scanned my systems several times. If it was poison, it was nothing he’s ever seen before and it has done me no harm.”

“Perhaps we should go then. I would love to rest for the evening with you too.”

“Let’s.” Starscream stood up and was followed out by Pharma, Sunstorm, and a few of Optimus’s own party. It had been a magnificently successful day.


	54. Chapter 54

Optimus was woken in his berth by an urgent notification on his comm system. “Optimus here.”

“Prime.” Pharma’s voice was tight and worried. “You have to come here.”

“Pharma, what’s happened?” Optimus pushed himself out of berth. 

“It’s the Intended.” Pharma’s vents hitched. “Optimus… It’s Trion Syndrome.”

Optimus froze as his servo hovered in midair, reaching to grab his cape. “What?”

“You’d better come, quickly.” Pharma pleaded.

“I’ll be there in a few klicks.” Optimus hung up, roused his entourage, and hurried to Senator Shockwave’s mansion in the dark. 

Ratchet was already awake, putting together a kit of medical tests and tools, doubtless to confirm Pharma’s diagnosis. “Let’s go, Optimus.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Ratchet.” Optimus agreed with the medic and they set out immediately.

When they reached the mansion, Megatron was waiting for them in the foyer. The warlord’s faceplates were grim and drawn. 

“Optimus Prime. He’s been asking for you.” Megatron informed Optimus. “Please, come upstairs.”

All of the servants, especially a small, black and purple Seeker who was carrying away a bowl of lukewarm solvent, were downcast, reflecting their master’s mood. Senator Shockwave stood outside the open door to Starscream’s chamber. He barely twitched as the Prime strode past him into the dimly lit berthroom where his Intended and Beloved lay, dying. Ratchet hurried after him, already reaching for medical tools inside his subspace.

Megatron took up his place beside Soundwave, looking into the room where Pharma and Ratchet conferred softly over the deceptively small and vulnerable divot in the soft berth where Starscream was buried in covers and sunk into the mattress.

“He was our last hope for peace.” Shockwave’s faceplates were downcast. “I’ve failed you, Lord Megatron.”

Megatron set a servo on his shoulder. “It isn’t over until it’s over, Shockwave.”

The morose Senator didn’t bother to answer, servos firmly tucked into his elbows.

Optimus moved close to the berth, fully prepared for the worst, and it was ready for him. Starscream’s plating was grey at the edges. His optics were offline and his faceplates pinched in pain. Trion’s Syndrome was a disease of the spark, agonizing and humiliating for the victim. It never ended in anything less than death and it often took cycles for the victim to offline as systems shut down and scrambled. Rewind was perched on the footboard, playing recordings of classical music to the unresponsive patient. The usually cheerful and optimistic memory stick had his helm in his servos. Chromedome stood behind him, one servo trailing up and down his back strut soothingly.

Sunstreaker had a sketchpad out, but he was just doodling listlessly, not looking up eagerly as he would when composing a new painting. Roller just stood in a corner, fidgeting with his servos and watching Pharma and Ratchet putting their helms together over the dying Seeker.

Optimus reached out and gently touched Starscream’s sky blue servo. He took it and squeezed the delicate digits in his own. “Starscream…”

Starscream onlined his optics and looked up at Optimus. “Optimus… Well, this is a fine kettle, isn’t it?”

Optimus sat down on the edge of the berth and cradled the Seeker’s servo. “I suppose it is.” He tried to smile, even weakly, but he felt like he failed. “There’s still a chance isn’t there?”

Starscream laughed, soft and breathy. “Cross your digits for a mis-diagnosis.”

Optimus crossed two digits and showed them to the Seeker, who laughed again. The small, black and purple Seeker returned with a cube of low-grade energon, seasoned with minerals and elements. “Put it on the side table, Nightwish.” Pharma absently ordered.

Ah, so this was Nightwish, the Seeker Shockwave had sent for to care specifically for the Intended after the poisoning incident after the banquet. Optimus recalled briefly that he had a Seekerlet who was going to a school nearby, but for obvious reasons, it wasn’t his primary concern. For something to do, he took the tray from Nightwish and set it on the sidetable in reach. “Thank you.”

Nightwish made a somber bow and nod and carried the tray out.

In the meantime, Ratchet and Pharma ran a final test and their helms bowed. Ratchet stood up and put a servo on Optimus’s shoulder while Pharma crumpled, covering his faceplates with his servos to weep. “There was no mistake, Optimus.” Ratchet stated quietly. “It is Trion’s Syndrome.”

Silence fell across the bedroom, except for the slightly tiny recording Rewind was playing. The sound quality had gone down when the tiny memory stick began crying.

Starscream quietly pushed himself up on his free servo. “Please, everyone, give Optimus and I some privacy.” 

There were no protestations for propriety. No one raised a complaint. The witnesses nodded, packed up pieces of equipment, gathered themselves, and left without a word. Pharma, Skywarp, and Thundercracker each approached the bed, squeezed Starscream’s shoulder or stroked his wing, and passed out into the corridor. The door shut behind the last one out and silence fell across the couple resting on the berth, and against each other.

Optimus ignored propriety in return and sat fully on the berth, gathering Starscream into his arms and to his windshield. The Seeker’s frame was wracked by tremors, and Optimus knew they weren’t caused by fear.

“Well, I suppose this is some sort of irony.” Starscream sighed. “Surrounded by assassins, hostile nobles, kicked in the tank by a femme on the warpath, and struck down by a secret lurking in my own spark frequency.”

“…There might still be-“ Optimus tried to be optimistic for the both of them.

“No, Optimus. It was a beautiful dream, but it’s over now.” Starscream laid his helm against the Prime’s shoulder. “Thank you, for everything. For loving me.”

Optimus’s optics began to leak coolant. He didn’t want to betray his trembling lipplates, but he opened his mask. “How could I not? I’ll do it, Starscream, I swear. I will bring peace, equality… even prosperity, to all of the cities. Vos included.”

“That’s all I ask.” Starscream closed his optics. “And, one more thing.”

“Name it.” Optimus murmured to him, cradling his jet black helm.

“When the time comes… When I am to go… Promise me you’ll leave.”

“…What?” Optimus didn’t comprehend the request.

“Trion’s syndrome is agonizing, Optimus. And I’ll spend my last klickcycles unconscious and comatose after my processor shuts down. I want you to promise me, that when my optics close on reality, when I slip past the pale, that you’ll go. That you won’t stay clear to the end like a romantic idiot. It won’t be a pretty sight, when that happens. When my frame finally goes into its last struggles to live. And you don’t need to remember me like that.”

He didn’t like the idea. It felt too much like promising to abandon Starscream to his death. But it could not help the Seeker to watch him thrash about, and if it gave Starscream peace of mind, it was a promise he would make easily. “I will, Starscream. The moment.”

“Thank you, Optimus.” Starscream closed his optics. “Stay with me, please.”

“Of course, love. For as long as you wish.” Optimus settled in against the headboard and grabbed the coverings, pulling them out of their tucks to wrap about Starscream.


	55. Chapter 55

The Prime’s business was conducted from Senator Shockwave’s Mansion and the Prime himself was never far from Starscream’s berth.

“Poor Optimus.” Jazz and Prowl had come to pay their respects. Jazz was wearing a black headdress with a veil like the overdramatic creature he was. “Widowed before the wedding day.” They were walking down the drive back to the road. Well, Jazz was waddling, but no one would dare say it. He was so close to due, he was ready to pop.

“Poor Starscream. Trion’s Syndrome: I wouldn’t want to go like that.” Prowl shook his helm. 

“I never thought I’d hear you sympathize with a Seeker, but you’ve gone and played on their team, and now this.” Jazz leaned on his mate’s arm. “You’re going to be a wonderful – Ack!” Jazz bent over, gripping his lower tank.

“What is it, Jazz?” Prowl bent over his mate worriedly. 

“Prowl- My energon broke. The sparkling’s coming!” Jazz hissed. 

“Oh, Primus – PHARMA!” Prowl screamed, gathering Jazz in his arms and running back into the Mansion.

 

“It’s okay, Nightwish. Trion’s syndrome is hard on the tanks as well as the spark. I know you mean well, but Starscream just can’t have mineral-rich energon right now.” Pharma handed Nightwish back the scanned cube. “Thank you for thinking of him, though.”

“Of course. It will be disastrous if – if – “ Nightwish brushed away coolant from his optics. “I just… I’m sorry, Pharma. I’ll bring up some plain energon in a minute.”

“It’s all right, Nightwish, we all feel that.” Pharma tiredly laid a servo on Nightwish’s shoulder. “Take a break if you need one, all right? Spend some time with your sparkling. If you think he’d be up to it, you might bring him to see the Intended. I know he’d love to see some life.”

Nightwish shook his helm hurriedly. “…I can’t subject Lightwing to that, Pharma. I’m sorry. It’s best if he just stays at school for now.”

“All right. I understand. Trion’s Syndrome is too much for some adult mechs. You protect your child. I’ll tend my patient-“ Pharma winced when he heard a shriek from downstairs. “Or patients, as the case may be. Coming!”

Pharma rushed down the stairs. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Prowl was holding Jazz’s hand. “Jazz’s energon broke, Pharma, what do we do?”

“Come up to the bedrooms. Everything will be fine, don’t worry. You’ll have your sparkling soon.” Pharma promised, helping the to-be Carrier up the stairs, Prowl on his other side. 

“Well, this isn’t how we planned this going.” Jazz gasped. “But I suppose we had better play the hand we’re dealt.”

“Good. Keep a smile on your faceplates, Jazz. It’ll be good practice.” Pharma advised, leading them into one of the Seeker’s bedrooms on the living floor. It was a suite that adjoined with Starscream’s own and the Intended would probably be disturbed by this, but there was nothing to do. “And would you mind panting when you ex-vent? Like this.” Pharma took in a vent and let it out in three. “You can do this. Just let me get a scan on the goings on while Sunstorm fetches hot water and clean cloths.”

Speaking of Sunstorm, the golden priest had rushed out into the hall and gaped when he realized what was going on. When he heard Pharma, he snapped to. “Hot solvent at once!” He rushed away. This left Skywarp and Thundercracker on duty.

Starscream was in bad way. His optics were flicking in and out, but he could hear Jazz crying out and Skywarp spazzing out. “Thunders… what’s happening?”

“It’s Jazz’s sparkling, Starscream.” Thundercracker answered, coming close to the berth. “It’s coming.”

“…Do you mind asking if you could open the door between the rooms? I want to hear…”

“Sure.” Thundercracker knocked on the adjoining door and relayed Starscream’s request to Pharma when the medic opened it. 

“I’ll ask Jazz.” And the game of telephone went on, but the end result was that the door remained open.

Starscream went from buried in the berth to sitting up. When Optimus rushed in, he was bright and alert, listening as Jazz’s labors bore their fruit: Two, beautiful mechlings. One a gold and black two-wheeler, the other a silver and black Praxian femme. “What are we going to name them, Prowl?” Jazz asked when he could speak again. Pharma laid his two, perfect children into his arms.

“I don’t know. We never discussed names for the sparklings.” Prowl sounded like he might cry himself.

“I want to name the gold one after you, Prowl. How does Prowler sound?”

“It sounds great. What about the femme, Jazz?”

“…Starscream.” Jazz whispered.

“Starscream? That’s her name? Umm… Well, isn’t it a bit unorthodox? I know that - ” 

“Shut up, Prowl.” Jazz pointed.

Prowl turned to look at the door.

Starscream was standing on his own two pedes. Leaning heavily against Optimus, but standing. “Well, did you expect me not to come see this?” Optimus kept up a careful running translation. He stepped in, Optimus practically holding him up and matching his every step. The Prime’s optics were teary both from the birth of the sparklings and Starscream’s walk. It seemed the Seeker might rally. Perhaps there would be a survivor of Trion’s syndrome this time.

“You are kind of… dying…” Prowl muttered.

“Maybe, but I still want to see.” Starscream limped forwards. “They’re beautiful, Jazz.”

“Thank you, Starscream. Do you want to hold Prowler while Prowl and I name our daughter.”

“Please. But by all that’s holy, don’t inflict the name of Starscream on a poor, innocent child.” Optimus helped Starscream sit down on the berth beside Jazz and supported his arm as he held the gold and black sparkling while Prowl held the femme.

“Of course not. Prowl was just being a blockhelm.” Jazz smacked his side good-naturedly. “It’s good to see you out of berth, Starscream.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Starscream smiled down at Prowler. “…Though I don’t think I should stay out of berth too long. Maybe just a little longer.”

Pharma scanned him carefully. “Starscream… How do you feel?”

“Better. But it might be because I have an adorable sparkling in my arm.” 

“Actually, your systems seem to have mostly stabilized. You could be on the road to recovery now.”

“Really?” Optimus spoke up, optics lighting.

“No promises.” Pharma warned. “But I’ve never seen a spark start to stabilize during this phase of Trion’s Syndrome. It might be a copycat disease, something curable. It’s not unheard of. I’ll monitor you as time goes on and we’ll see.”

Optimus swung an arm around his Intended and lifted the slender Seeker right into the air, gently plucking Prowler from his arms and handing the sparkling back to Jazz. “Let’s get you back into berth, then. And perhaps some energon, if you’re up to it.”

“I’m up for anything, ground pounder.” Starscream sighed, smiling. “Now put me down, you thrice-blasted fool.”

Optimus walked into the Seeker’s bedroom before depositing him on the berth and fussing over him. The other Seekers charged after to help, leaving the new Creators alone.

Prowl smiled down at their two little ones. “A night of miracles, it seems.”

“Careful, don’t jinx it.” Jazz smiled back up at his mate. “Starscream could be back to death’s door in the morning.”


	56. Chapter 56

Shockwave was almost skipping in the morning. Starscream was recovering. He was making a miraculous turn-around from a disease that should have claimed his life. Nothing could bring him down.

“Good morning, Carvasse. What’s on the menu for this evening?” He greeted his butler.

“Well, forgive me for presuming, Senator, but with the Intended’s recovery, I thought we might bring out some of the family reserve crystal energon for the evening.”

“A splendid idea! Make sure the staff get a nice glass of high grade for themselves as well.” Shockwave instructed. “Where’s Nightwish? I’d like to carry up the Intended’s tray.” 

“He’s already gone up, I’m afraid. But I’m sure the Intended would welcome your presence.”

“Seeing through me as usual.” Shockwave teased. “Very well then. Carry on, Carvasse.”

Shockwave slid up the stairs and onto the landing. He spotted Nightwish standing across from a table where he had rested the heavy tray and a cube of energon. He seemed upset – his servos were trembling and he was sobbing.

Shockwave was about to announce himself – to ask if something was wrong – when he saw the vial in Nightwish’s servo. “Why you-!” He cried out, grabbing the Seeker’s wrist and wrestling the vial away. “Poison!”

Pharma came out. “What is the meaning – Nightwish?”

“…I’m sorry, Pharma.” Nightwish went limp. “I can explain! Please…”

“Have security bring a pair of stasis cuffs. Then we’ll hear him out.” Starscream, leaning on Optimus, came to the door. “Personally, I would like to hear an explanation.” His expression was crushingly disappointed.

Nightwish was sedate when they arrayed themselves in a sitting room. His servos were clasped over his cuffs and his knees were together, wings down and nervous. “I didn’t want to – really, I didn’t. You have to believe that. I was just trying to get my sparkling back. They said he’d die if I didn’t!”

“Hang on, slow down.” Optimus held out a servo, calming. “We’re willing to listen, but you have to start from the beginning and explain it carefully. Who took your sparkling?”

“He was walking home from his school last week.” Nightwish explained. “But he never made it. When I went looking for him, a huge, purple femme called me into an alley. She gave me the poison and told me to give it to the Intended or she would kill my son! I didn’t want to! Please, you have to believe me!”

“Shh… Shh… This femme, what did she look like?” Starscream questioned.

“She was purple, and she towered over me, but she was shaped like a barrel – round and bulky. She had yellow decals and a vented mask.”

Starscream and Optimus exchanged glances. “Strika.” They spoke at once.

“Strika is Elita’s henchman. Do you think she did this?” Shockwave folded his arms. “If she did, then Elita was probably in on it too.”

“Elita.” Starscream pursed his lips. “She’s certainly easy to blame, but she did give me a Victor’s Cup on the evening of the tournament.” In the time since, he had done some research and the Victor’s Cup was a sacred gesture offered by a Carcerian who wished to make peace without sacrificing their pride. To poison it was blasphemy. Of course, if Elita was attacking him again after he had drunk the cup, it might have been to re-open hostilities in a way that would disguise her true intention, but somehow it didn’t seem her style. Up until now, she had attacked him in the open, without disguising her intention or identity. The Carcerian way.

“It would be suspicious of her to offer that, wouldn’t it?” Pharma suggested. “If she was lying, or worse, didn’t even believe in the first place, she could still be an open and lethal enemy.”

“I suppose we should let her tell her side of the story.” Starscream cupped his chin as he thought. “If we make it clear we know, perhaps she’ll let Nightwish’s child go. I don’t want to bring charges against Nightwish, and that means we can’t touch Elita, but we can make sure she knows we’re on to her, if she is behind this. It’s equally likely that Strika might be acting alone in order to support her mistress.”

Optimus put an arm around Starscream’s waist and dropped his voice, speaking directly into Starscream’s audial. “What your rivals do not seem to realize is that I would not take another if you were removed from my life.”

At the unexpected confession, Starscream jumped, then smiled slightly and leaned against him. “You sap.” His wings fluttered with happiness. 

“I will call Elita here, without Strika, and discretely.” Senator Shockwave covered the lower half of his face with one servo as he brooded. “I will think of a way to ensure no one is suspicious. You could be losing your mind in the last phase and want to speak to your rival. Make peace.” He left with this convoluted story evolving in his mind.

“Well, all we can do is wait now.” Starscream sighed, sinking down into the couch and against Optimus. “Ugh. This is the part I hate the most.”

“I think everyone hates waiting the most.” Optimus agreed. “But until she gets here, there’s nothing we can really do.”

And wait they did. 

Eventually, Elita and Shockwave arrived. For once, Elita was in mostly plain armor- without all the decoration she normally wore, and when she came into the Parlor and saw Starscream sitting up – polished and well, though in need of a fresh paintjob – instead of the peeling, fainting shell she expected, she was astounded. “Intended! You are… Well!”

“I’ve made a rather shocking recovery.” Starscream calmly spoke in Common. It was all planned out – strategized down to the detail. He would speak directly to her, to put her off balance. He would keep a careful teek on her, make sure she couldn’t deceive them. “One I hope you can help me shed some light on.” His wings lifted. He sensed nothing but shock from her.

“But Trion’s Syndrome… It has no cure and no one has survived it!” Elita reached out and grabbed him in a fit of shock. “And how do you speak to me? You do not speak Common Iacon!”

“Calm yourself, Lady Elita.” Starscream sighed. He nodded to the others, who had their weapons trained on her back and they sheathed them, though Optimus kept his servo on the blaster’s hilt. “And please, sit down. It seems we have talking to do.” He kept his wings attentive on her, looking for any sign of deceit, but her surprise had been genuine and he did not believe this was his poisoner.

Elita released Starscream’s shoulders, leaving deep indents in the armor. “My apologies, Intended. Today is to be a day of revelations, it seems.”

“For all of us.” Starscream grimly put a servo to his cockpit. “I was poisoned, Elita. Not ill. Nightwish, if you will, please explain to Lady Elita what you have explained to me.” He gestured to the black and purple Seeker, standing between Skywarp and Thundercracker.

Nightwish stepped forward, servos trembling. “Please… Your servant, Strika, has taken my sparkling. She made me put the poison in the Intended’s energon the evening when he returned from the tournament. I didn’t want to!”

“…Strika.” Elita’s faceplates became stormy. “Intended, believe me when I tell you that I was sincere when I offered you the Victor’s Cup. I am nowhere close to liking you, but there is a spirit in you and something that inspires others. In another time, another place, a different place, the feelings you inspire would be hate, but now they are admiration. I do not oppose your seat as Consort, and I would sue for a place in your court, when the time comes.”

“If you want my favor.” Starscream sat up a little straighter and lifted his chin. “Then return Nightwish’s child to him. And help me to remove my rivals so that I can ascend without further incident.”

“Agreed, though now that it appears I cannot trust my own men, that task may be more difficult. I will earn my seat in your court, Intended, I swear it.” Elita stood up. “And be assured, until you give me the word, the fact that you can speak Common Iacon will not become known. It is a weapon you are saving, I take it, until a time when it is needed.”

“That is the idea.” Starscream agreed. “And I have used it twice now, to great effect.”

“I would advise care, then, Intended. The more often a weapon is used, the more prepared an adversary is. Your Mastery of the language is the least known fact about you.”

“I should hope it’s the second least known.” Starscream shook his helm and waved it off. “Nevermind.”

“No, Intended. It’s the least known.” Elita was trying to warn him of something. “Though I will make every effort to make your second least-known secret as unknown as possible.”

Starscream fell silent. “Thank you.”


	57. Chapter 57

That evening, Nightwish’s son was returned to Senator Shockwave’s Mansion. Nightwish kept his job – at Starscream’s insistence – to his eternal gratitude. Starscream went on to make a full recovery while Strika was sent home to face trial for violating the code surrounding the Victor’s Cup. She would be dishonored for quite some time - the rest of her life, but her punishment was light for the offense, in Starscream’s mind.

Still, life as an outcast was recompense for a sparkling’s fear and a Carrier’s terror. Starscream touched his cockpit again. It didn’t matter what she had tried to do to him. He had an ace, it seemed. Because one thing he knew for certain: If he had been anyone else, the poison would have killed him. He should be dead and the knowledge weighed heavy on his processor. 

It suggested too much.

“You’re quiet today.” Optimus commented. They were sitting side-by-side on a garden bench again.

“I have a lot to think about. Elita is my ally, but I’m not immune to the Carcerians in general. I nearly died when Strika forced Nightwish to poison me… There has been a great deal of drama in my life recently. Drama I could do without.” Starscream sighed, venting in and out deeply as he listened to the jingling sound the Jewelbirds’ wings made as they fluttered about.

“My poor, beautiful Seeker.” Optimus sighed, pulling him close. “Another four decacycles and we’ll be almost three-quarters of the way through our time.”

“The ceremonies of sanctification and purification.” Starscream mused almost jokingly. “The moment I ascend to join the divine. I wonder if I’ll feel different.”

Optimus laughed as well and nuzzled the Seeker’s audial. “You might feel tingly at first and more in tune with the people around you.”

“I hope so. Imagine the pranks I could pull and blame it on Skywarp. Knowing him, he’d try to take the blame, or credit, anyway.” As he mentioned Skywarp’s pranks, Starscream noticed the imprint of Thundercracker’s pedes in the flower bed and he sighed through his nasal vent. Klutz.

Optimus purred his engines. “I’d love to help you arrange some playful jokes.”

“Perhaps I’ll let you in on a few of my secrets.” Starscream smirked, leaning back into his side. 

Optimus kissed his helm and looked up as Manners and Ironhide came around a corner. “I guess this is the moment when we have to part.” With regret, he released Starscream’s waist and stood up, offering his arm. “Let me walk you out then.”

“Of course.” Starscream sighed, taking Optimus’s arm and hugging it to his frame, wings folding back slightly. “I can’t wait to get a moment to talk to Ratchet. I have an idea for how I’m going to get these blasted wings out of our way.”

“I like your ‘blasted wings.” Optimus sighed, smiling down at him. “But I can imagine some activities where it would be nice to have them out of the way.”

“I can too. I’m willing to bet my imaginings are raunchier than yours.”

“Oh, don’t take that bet.” Optimus’s optics twinkled. “When I look at you, I want to bend you over the nearest surfaces sometimes. Especially when you’re being aloof, but you shoot those glances out of the corner of your optics.”

“Oh, you should someday. Perhaps it would liven up the social scene.” Starscream joked.

“Something to really shock them out of their senseless circles, though I don’t think it would have the effect we would want.” Optimus sighed as they reached the main corridor. “We have to part ways. I wish we didn’t.”

“Even when we’re bonded, there will be times when we will have to part ways, Optimus, my darling.” Starscream quietly reminded him. “I’m going to be a lady, and you’re the Prime. I have to tend to my sphere, and you to yours.”

“True.” Optimus sighed and reached out, adjusting the wrap Starscream was wearing across his shoulder. “But we will always be together, at night.”

“Yes.” Starscream promised, nodding before he had to turn away.

Optimus watched him go and sighed, turning to Ironhide. “What is it, Ironhide?”

“We have a problem.” Ironhide told Optimus. “A Council Problem.”

“Another one?” Optimus sighed. He had been sending the Council to talk to Prowl everytime they called because it was quite clear they were trying to both snub and order him at the same time. He hadn’t wanted to deal with it. “And this one can’t be re-directed because?”

“It’s One-of-Twelve. In person.” The leader of the Council had finally come to pay the Commoner Prime a visit. Finally, they were getting somewhere. But it couldn’t have come at a worse time. Four decacycles out from the ceremonies of sanctification and purification wasn’t a lot of time to take the bite out of them if they chose to fight.

“Right. Let’s see to him then.” Optimus sighed, walking out towards the entry where One-of-Twelve was lurking. “Oh, no…” He spotted One-of-Twelve speaking to Starscream, Pharma, and Sunstorm. Sunstorm was on the verge of hero worship. “Why wasn’t he shown to a sitting room?”

“When he heard the Intended was here, he wanted to wait in the hall in hopes of meeting him.” Ironhide responded, his irritation evident in his voice. “I almost didn’t fetch you because he was being such an aft.”

“I hope Starscream’s handling him.” Optimus picked up his pace. As he did, he caught the strains of Vosnian being spoken.

“I hope we will speak again, Starscream. You are surprisingly literate in the Primal Texts for one so low on the Grand Taxonomy.” One-of-Twelve was massive, easily twice Starscream’s height. 

“Study is not merely the domain of the Convoys, One-of-Twelve.” Starscream replied with a grand gesture of one arm. “I envision a Cybertron undivided, where mechs are free to find their place within a grander taxonomy – one not defined at birth.”

“You are a dreamer, Starscream. Perhaps it is time for a dreamer to take up the position of Consort. If you can achieve such a taxonomy, within the words of Primus Adaptible, I will stand beside you.” One-of-Twelve looked up as Optimus approached. “Prime.” He nodded.

“One-of-Twelve. I trust your business with my Intended is complete.” Prime nodded his helm to the Councilor.

“It seems to be. I am impressed, Optimus Prime. When I had heard that you had chosen a Seeker for your Intended, I was not hopeful. However, Starscream has convinced me that it has become a time for change. The Grand Taxonomy is becoming unwieldy, but with true servants of Primus at the helm, and my advice, of course, we can negotiate a time of change.”

“Uhh…” Optimus’s jaw was practically on the floor.

“With that, my business is complete. I will be attending your ceremonies, of course, Starscream. It would be an honor to wield the rubber brand.”

“I’d be flattered.” Starscream bowed. “But don’t go out of your way.”

“I insist.” One-of-Twelve bowed, an actual bow. “And your mastery of politics and persuasion will serve you well, Starscream. I will be in Iacon if you have need of spiritual advice as you walk this path.” He walked out then, going back to his shuttle mech who was waiting.

“…Okay, what the actual frag did you say to him?” Optimus questioned Starscream.

“There’s nothing like a little political blackmail.” Starscream smiled at Optimus sweetly. “One-of-Twelve has a weakness for data slug frames.”

“The lowest on the Grand Taxonomy.” Optimus breathed.

“If we can come together in peace, Optimus… Then he can bond to Informant.” Starscream chuckled. “It’s amazing what the mention of a name can do.”

“…I suppose it is.”


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, for walking this road with me. To all my readers, good night.

It was a peaceful two decacycles before Soundwave picked up the whispers of a “big scoop” concerning the Intended. At the same time, Elita One came bursting into Senator Shockwave’s mansion, demanding to speak to Starscream.

When he came out, Starscream looked physically ill and was leaning on the pink femme, whose faceplates were molded into a furious death cowl. The Lady, Senator Shockwave, Lord Megatron, Soundwave, and Starscream made for the Palace at once.

“What are you telling me?” Optimus rubbed his temple as they tried to inform him and demand action all at once.

“Obsidian sold information on the Intended to Lady Moonracer.” Elita’s faceplates were tight. “Extremely damaging information that I intended to use to cast light on his virtue, before the tournament.”

“What exactly is this?” Optimus held up two servos. “Can we please explain to me what exactly is going on?”

“They have pictures, Optimus. And video.” Starscream was fretting on the love seat. “Of what I had to do… when I was at University. The things I had to do to get our grades. For Pharma and I.”

“Oh, Starscream…” Optimus half stood up. “This is… This is disastrous.” He hurried across the office to his Seeker’s side and held him. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think.” Starscream pinched his nasal vent. “I just – I can’t right now. This is… I never, ever wanted to see this come to light.”

“We have to give them a bigger story.” Lord Megatron folded his arms. “Something to knock this gossip right off the front page.”

“And what would do that?” Starscream hissed. “I can’t even imagine what would have to happen to do that!”

Megatron turned to Soundwave. “Soundwave, hack their systems and crash their servers. See if we can prevent the story. Optimus, you need to issue several special warrants. Starscream, this is going to take you too. You have to be brave. I know you can be.” He rested a heavy servo on the Seeker’s wing. 

Starscream looked up into his optics and firmed his lipplates, nodding. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“That’s my Seeker. Go back to Senator Shockwave’s Mansion and put on something as grand and eye-catching as possible. Elita One, can you gather Starscream’s allies and get them to put on something similarly optic-catching?”

“I can.” Elita straightened, nodding. 

“Do it. Get as many of them as possible. Starscream, I know you kept evidence on every one of your abusers. We need it now.”

With trembling servos, Starscream reached into his subspace and pulled out a lackluster datapad. “Everything is on this.”

“Good. Go, get dressed and compose yourself.” Megatron straightened. “Senator Shockwave, go with him. 

“Aye, sir.” Shockwave took Starscream’s arm while Megatron booted up the datapad.

“Optimus, we’re going to need… Thirteen warrants. I’ll read you the charges against them, you just sign.” He sat down across the desk and they set to work.

 

It was a story that blasted the gossip pages out of the water. At approximately the thirteenth cycle, when classes were in full swing, a team of arresting officers stormed the University and arrested most of the senior faculty and the Dean of Students. They were marched out in handcuffs. 

A Seeker was running alongside them. “Quark, it isn’t true! Say it isn’t!”

Quark turned on Brainstorm like a cobra striking. “Shut up! I never even liked you! You were just an easy frag who stuck around long enough to make it into a relationship!” 

Brainstorm recoiled as if he had been slapped. “No…” He whispered, then ran away crying. He ran into Thundercracker, who hugged him and comforted him. Meanwhile, a line of Cybertronian nobility stared down at the line of disgraced professors like angels in radiance. Knock Out, Windblade, Chromia, Elita One, Pharma, Sunstorm, and, of course- Starscream. They were all dressed in their finest, head dresses raised high, satin blowing in the brisk wind. 

When a reporter raced over to speak to Starscream, Elita wilted the femme with a poisonous glare. Starscream stared down at the line of people he hated and nodded to himself. Justice, at long last.

 

Of course, there had to be a trial. Every mech was entitled to a day in court. Starscream, the star witness, was contested heavily, though.

“Are you sure you can do this, Starscream?” Optimus questioned, worriedly, as they walked into the courthouse. “They’re going to throw everything they have at you.”

“I can, Optimus. I’m ready.” Starscream nodded, lipplates pressed together. “I’ve been waiting for this day my whole life.”

“I only wish you never had to see it.”

“Agreed.” Starscream squeezed his servo and they stepped into the buzzing courtroom. At last, Starscream was called to take the stand. Reporters had their pens to paper, recording every word spoken. 

Starscream took a deep vent and braced himself sitting in the raised seat with his servos folded. Ready.

“The simple fact,” The representative for the defense was speaking, “Is that we cannot trust the Intended’s word because he has to speak through an interpreter. We cannot be certain of what he’s saying.”

“Objection!” The representative for the prosecution began, but he was cut off.

Starscream was laughing.

The judge, Tyrest himself, turned his helm. “Intended Starscream? Is something funny?”

“Yes, your Honor.” Starscream smiled, speaking at a moderate level, but clear and in perfect Common Iacon. “It’s very funny, because the representative for the defense is paying me a great compliment. Clearly, he has a very high estimation of my intelligence, if I am meant to have graduated with my degrees, all in a language I am not able to speak.”

The court room went up in riot. It was a long time before order was restored. But Starscream’s smile stayed in place. He had been saving that shocker, and it had been used at last.

 

Quark and his compatriots were sentenced to various prisons and disbarred. They would never teach young innocents again.

Brainstorm joined the Intended’s Court as a consultant for defense and protection.

Sunstreaker finally unveiled his masterpieces for the new gallery. He named it simply “The Primal Engagement.” It was incredibly well-received. No one was surprised when he and Sunstorm were bonded soon after the Prime and Starscream. 

Roller and Pharma eloped directly after Starscream’s bonding, though they had the Intended’s blessing to do so. 

Elita continued to protect the Intended, and Cybertronian interests, by turning her scope outwards and becoming an ambassador.

Megatron and Soundwave helped Starscream and Optimus clean up the government and root out corruption. 

Racemaster was exposed and charged with treason, thanks to Manner’s work.

Manners continued to be the Palace butler until Bumblebee took the position. He spent many happy vorns with Starscream’s sparklings underpede.

One-of-Twelve and Informant were bonded vorns after Optimus and Starscream and he began the re-shuffling of the Grand Taxonomy.

Chromia and Ironhide courted in their own way, with weapons and target shooting, but they managed.

Lady Windblade found love in an unexpected mech – a speedster who called himself Blurr.

As for Starscream and Optimus themselves…

 

“Oh, I know I’m going to mess something up!” Optimus paced. “I won’t remember my vows, I won’t know what to say, I’ll knock his veil off!”

“Prime, you’ll do swell.” Ironhide assured him. “Now calm down. You’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet.”

“No, no, I can’t do this!” Optimus hissed.

“Yah have to. It’s time.” Ironhide took his arm. “Now be calm. You’ll see. As soon as Starscream walks though the door, you’ll feel so much better.”

Optimus was twitchy all the way to the altar, where One-of-Twelve was officiating. As the music swelled, he turned and Starscream was coming to meet him, a veil pouring out behind his helm. His frontis was large and the train ridiculously long, but in his servos was a bouquet of blood lilies and the white satin was embroidered with copious amounts of red thread.

He was Vos and Iacon united, and as One-of-Twelve began the blessings, Optimus reached out and took his servo. 

They were Vos and Iacon united.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you guys noticed I suck at endings? So have I. Sorry.
> 
> The truth is, I was running out of steam and rather than run myself into a brick wall and not finish the book, I decided to at least show you what I was going to try and do. I don't leave stories hanging, at least not if I can help it, and this one has been my baby for so long... I just wanted it to live here, in the fandom, with all of us. I understand if you're disappointed it ended so suddenly. I'm disappointed in myself. 
> 
> I don't want to give you guys false hope, so I won't say I'm going to return to this story. I'm not. It's done. I did what I set out to do, even if I ended it stupidly. For everyone who's been here since the beginning, I'm so thankful. I love you all, and I hope I see you again, on other fics, or even on my own Original Work. 
> 
> Yeah, that's right. I write novels as well as fanfics. Check them out sometime: Just search Camilla Draymarch. You should be able to find my blog. 
> 
> One last time, I love you guys, and let me bow out gracefully. Good night everyone and Good-Bye Awakening.


End file.
